


Two Kingdoms

by subluxate



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abortion, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Engagement, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Guilt, PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape, Prostitution, Recovery, Rehabilitation, Weddings, past child sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subluxate/pseuds/subluxate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brenda and Bill strike up a relationship, they don't know how they'll change each other, nor how their children will factor in. From the mundane things like raising a family, to the realities of their everyday (PTSD, anxiety, depression, and, eventually, a lost limb), to the unusual, their family solidifies every step of the way.</p><p>Chapter One summary: In this chapter, Brenda and Bill discuss their respective pasts. When this triggers a flashback for Brenda, Bill comes over to help her as she needs. The next morning, they meet each others' children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely cover art by katiemariie can be found [here](http://goodkindofcrack.livejournal.com/25459.html).
> 
> Trigger warnings for the overall work are in the end notes; trigger warnings for individual chapters are at the end of the chapter.

On their fourth real date, Brenda asks, “Tell me about Joyce?”

Bill smiles, a little wistfully. He rubs his thumb against his wedding ring. It’s sort of rough with scratches from handling weapons and everyday life. “She was amazing. We met when we were fifteen, first day of school, in English.”

Brenda smiles back. “Teenage love story,” she teases.

He laughs. “Yeah, that’s true.” He sips his beer, then continues. “She was gorgeous, first thing I noticed. I was _fifteen_ ,” he adds quickly. “Blame hormones.”

Brenda smirks. “Oh, and you didn’t start talking to me because of my looks?”

“I—yeah, got me, beautiful.” Before she can ask if that’s a pet name or something, which would just be embarrassing on a _fourth date_ , he goes on. “We had this project, getting to know someone in the class, then introducing them with a biography. She sat behind me, so we picked each other. Her family moved to Hartford over the summer, so everything about each other was new.” He shrugs. “We got to know a lot about each other that way. It was a homework and in-class thing, so we met up after school. Not like a date, but I started counting her as a friend.”

“That’s sweet,” she comments. “So what did you learn about each other?”

Right, she asked about Joyce, not about how they got together. “She had green eyes, same as Dawn’s. Dawnie looks a lot like her, except her hair isn’t curly. She’ll be a heartbreaker when she grows up, same as Joyce could have been.” 

“Do you like the reminder?” Brenda asks carefully. He’s not sure why. She toys with the stem of her wineglass but doesn’t drink.

Another sip of his beer. “I do. Dawn’s like having a bit of her mother around.”

She nods. They haven’t done the “meet the kids” thing yet, so she can’t fully know how he means it. Then, she has three kids and is divorced, so she might have an idea.

“Anyway,” he goes on, “Joyce was smart. One of the first things I noticed about her. She’d gone to a private school before they moved, but my high school was good enough that her parents sent her and her brother there instead. She was ahead of me in math, took fourth-year Spanish in sophomore year, everything.” He grins. “Useful when we started dating. I got free tutoring.”

Brenda laughs. “Lucky you.”

“She asked me to go to the movies with her in November of that year,” he continues. “I’d been planning to ask her the next day, too.”

“What did you see?”

“ _Worth Winning_.”

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of wine. When she’s managed to swallow, she asks, “And you kept dating her after _that_?”

“Don’t really remember the movie. We made out for most of it.”

“Quick,” she comments, sounding neutral.

“We’d been flirting for two months and we were fifteen. Blame hormones.”

She raises her eyebrows. “And our practice date was…”

“Stop doing that to me,” he mock complains.

She shakes her head and finishes off her wine. “Go on.”

“She could be sarcastic, which our daughter learned.” He rolls his eyes. “Ever have a six-year-old be sarcastic to you?”

She laughs. “I can’t say I have.”

“Dawnie’s only gotten worse about it the last few years. Anyway, Joyce. She was upfront about things, no games or anything. And she…” He considers. “She agreed right away about getting married and me joining the army. And she stopped her dad from punching me again.”

Brenda gives him a disbelieving look.

“I got his _sixteen-year-old_ daughter pregnant,” Bill points out.

“Okay, my dad probably would have hit the guy if I got pregnant before I got married.”

He frowns, slightly distracted by that. “Even if you were an adult?”

“We’re devout Catholics.”

That, he did not know. He swigs his beer. “Want another?” he asks, gesturing to her wineglass.

“Please.”

He nods and stands, taking her glass as he heads for the bar. When he has their drinks and has settled in the booth, facing her, again, he repeats, “Devout Catholics.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Well, first, we already had sex. Isn’t that an issue?”

She lifts a shoulder. “I went to Confession.”

Hopefully that doesn’t mean they’re going to stop. “Second, I’m an atheist, and I’m raising Dawn that way.”

Brenda folds her hands on the table and leans in. “My ex was a Catholic who…” She shakes her head. “Never mind. Let’s just say he was a terrible person for now.”

Bill’s going to ask about that when they’re done talking about Joyce. “So it’s okay with you.”

“As long as you don’t influence my kids’ beliefs right away.”

That’s easy. “Same for you.”

“Deal. Now, about Joyce.”

“She’d decided, even before she told me, to keep the baby. She had options.” He shrugs. “She picked that one. Soon as she told me she was pregnant, she also told me I was going to have half the responsibility.”

“How did you take that?”

He smiles wryly. “I asked her to marry me.”

Brenda laughs. “Good response.”

“She was tough. Made it through junior year pregnant, then with a baby at home—I took care of her during the day, since I already had my GED, but Joyce was still her mom—and then her senior year basically being a single parent. Brought Dawn all the way to my first posting on a bus after she graduated.”

“I’ve never done the bus thing,” she says, “but I was pregnant with Sam in my last year of college, and I went straight into the master’s program the next year. Plus working.”

“But your husband was there,” he points out, and her lips thin.

“My sister watched Sam. Sometimes my parents did.”

All right, dangerous territory. He’ll go ahead and avoid it. “She knew her own mind. Made decisions fast, you know?” He hesitates; Brenda _is_ Catholic, apparently, so mentioning this might be a bad idea, but she did ask about Joyce. “In ‘98, she got pregnant again. Told me she was getting an abortion, and it was the first I knew about it.”

Brenda’s gaze is steady when she asks, “Did you go with her?”

The relief eases something in his gut. “Yeah. We went on a day off, and I got a friend’s wife to watch Dawn for a couple of days so she could rest.”

She nods. “You’re a good man.”

“Blame Joyce,” he jokes, but it’s not untrue. Then he sobers. “She died on her way home from spending a day on her own. Dawn’s school had a holiday, I had a day off, so she had a break. A drunk driver hit our car. Killed her instantly. Paralyzed the drunk. He got a year and a half in prison.” He grimaces. “Before sentencing, you can give a victim impact statement. I had to talk about how it was affecting Dawnie. She was eight.”

Brenda reaches over to squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s getting… not really easier, but not as rough,” he tells her, then clears his throat. He’s not going to add that she’s helping with how it feels, not yet. It’s a bit soon. “Your turn.”

Her face goes blank. “I told you about my arm.”

He nods.

“He wasn’t like that when we met. I was eighteen and working as a bartender. He’d come in a couple of times a week, flirt, and I finally gave him my number. He was a high school history teacher, seven years older than me. I was a Yale nursing student. He was charming and kind, and…” She blows out a breath. “Anyway, we got married when I was nineteen. We were good for the first six months or so. I mean, I took care of all the housework, cooking, grocery shopping, that kind of stuff, but I wasn’t working anymore, just had school, so I thought it was fair. He drank more than I thought he should, but I didn’t say anything. He never really got _drunk_ , and he didn’t treat me badly when he was buzzed anyway. He taught and did his job well.” She blows out a breath. “I had a midterm coming up. I burned dinner.”

Bill tenses. Her eyes are bright, but her voice is steady, and he can guess at what comes next.

“He slapped me. Then he said how sorry he was, and he was gentle and kind, back to how he usually was. But it got worse from there, until I got pregnant with Sam. He didn’t hit me once during that, and he was… he was so good to me, I thought things were changing for good.” She reaches for her glass; once she picks it up, he can see that her hand is trembling from the slight ripples in the wine. “It didn’t last. It kept getting worse once Sam was born. When I got pregnant with Karen—I was trying not to, but he sabotaged my birth control, then made it sound like my fault—he was furious. He tried to make me abort her. I _couldn’t_ , though. Not just because it was against my— _our_ —religion, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had Sam already, and I made the money to support another baby even if he didn’t. That… it was bad. It got worse after she was born, and I didn’t think it could. I left him when Karen was three months old.”

“Did you ever go to the cops?” he asks, keeping his tone as gentle as possible.

“The neighbors called them sometimes. We lived in an apartment. One of the cops would pull him out and talk to him outside or in the hall, the other would sit with me and try to get me to press charges. I didn’t until I left him.” She doesn’t elaborate.

Silence settles over them for a minute or so, the sounds of the bar intruding on their private bubble. Finally, Bill says, “I’m sorry.”

She smiles tightly. “I don’t have to see him anymore, and when he has visitation, it’s supervised. Ron’s there.”

“Ron?”

“My brother-in-law. He’s a contractor, started out working construction. He’s about five inches taller than me, so four taller than Brett, and apparently, when Brett broke my arm, Ron beat the hell out of him. I trust him not to let anything happen to my kids while they’re seeing Brett.”

Bill nods. “That’s good.” He picks at the label of his beer and doesn’t meet her eyes when he asks, “Do you want to meet Dawn?”

She dabs at her eyes with a napkin but smiles broadly at him. “I’d love to. I want you to meet my kids, too. More than you did when you picked me up that time.”

“The kids could meet each other,” he suggests.

“That would work,” she says thoughtfully. “You could bring Dawn to my house tomorrow.”

Tomorrow is Saturday; Bill isn’t due back at the base until Monday. “Sounds great.”

*

Brenda’s shaking when she gets home. She and Bill split the cab fare; his mother’s house is closer to the bar, so he got dropped off first, and now she’s home to a dark, empty house. She would have asked him to come with, but after telling him that much about Brett, she couldn’t bring herself to.

It probably wasn’t a good idea to have three glasses of wine and talk about it at the same time. She feels ill as she puts her shoes and purse away, then walks unsteadily to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Two sips; then she retches into the sink until she’s reduced to dry-heaving. It wracks her body, every muscle from her hips up spasming every time she does, her arms and legs shuddering. When she’s done, she picks up her water and turns to slide down the cabinets. She pulls her knees up against her chest and presses her face against them as her eyes burn with tears.

She thought this was easier now. She thought she could talk about it. But she can’t, she can’t without it slamming into her stomach and hurting her heart.

She can’t look up. If she does, she’ll see where she stood when he broke her arm, and she’ll feel it again. Or she’ll see where he slapped her son across the face, and she can’t handle that. It’s going to happen all over again if she looks up.

So when she’s ready to sip her water, she closes her eyes. That ends with her spilling some on her front before she manages to drink, but the shock of cold is almost welcome. After three or four sips, she focuses on her breathing, counting seconds as she inhales, holds her breath, exhales. That helps some.

It’s a good thing her kids are at Liz’s instead of here with a sitter, she thinks distantly. If they saw her like this, it would devastate Sam and Karen and terrify Zach.

After a few minutes, she calms enough to realize something in her pocket keeps jabbing into her hip. She shifts to pull it out. Her cellphone. She stares at it for a few minutes, tracing a finger over the front cover. This kind of thing usually means nightmares, especially since she can’t take anything to help her sleep, what with the alcohol in her system. That doesn’t necessarily mean having someone come over will help, though.

One thing at a time. More water first, then that. She turns and stands, deliberately looking out the kitchen window into the backyard, not around the kitchen. She draws another glass of water and just takes sips; it feels like it takes hours to finish it this time. 

Once it’s gone, she flips open her phone and runs her thumb down the numbers. She doesn’t want to be alone right now. Normally, John would be the person she calls.

She presses and holds 5 instead until it starts to ring.

“Hi, Brenda,” Bill says. He doesn’t sound tired or drunk; she feels much better about calling him.

“Could you come over?” Her voice shakes, and she hates it, but she can’t steady it.

“What’s wrong? I’m on my way.”

“I’ll try to explain when you get here. The door’s unlocked.” 

“Ten minutes. Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

“You shouldn’t drive,” she says dully.

“I’m fine,” he says firmly. “I’m coming over. Have you had water?”

“Two glasses.” She should eat something, but that means looking around her kitchen, and she still can’t do that.

“Dawn was still up when I got home,” Bill tells her. “Mum’s been letting her stay up on weekends. I told her she gets to meet you and your kids tomorrow.”

He keeps talking as Brenda gets herself more water and slides back to the floor. Mostly she listens; he tells her about his daughter and mother’s reactions to the idea of introducing Dawn to her family so soon, then moves on to what he’d like to do with all the kids tomorrow, and soon she hears her door opening and his voice both from the phone and the entryway.

“Where are you?” he asks her.

“Kitchen.”

“Can I turn the lights on?”

“Yeah. I’m hanging up now.”

“All right.”

She ends the call and drops the phone to her lap. A second later, the kitchen lights flicker on. She closes her eyes against the glare and listens to his footsteps getting closer.

“Hey,” Bill says, almost in her ear. He touches her arm, and she flinches away instinctively. “Brenda, it’s me.”

“I know.” And she does, but her lizard brain doesn’t know the difference. She squints her eyes open to look at him, squatting on the floor beside her, and reaches for his hand. It’s okay this time; she’s initiating the touch. 

“Want to go somewhere more comfortable?”

“The living room,” she says after a moment. Her voice trembles.

“All right. Can I take your cup and phone?”

She hands them over, and he rises to set them on the counter, then offers his hand. She takes it to pull herself to her feet and buries her face in his shoulder rather than look around her kitchen right now. He wraps his arms around her, rubbing her back in slow circles.

“I can’t look at the kitchen,” she mutters.

“I can’t hear you, beautiful.”

She raises her voice, just a bit, and repeats herself.

“Then keep your eyes closed, and I’ll lead you.”

That works. She raises her head, eyes closed. A moment later, she hears water run, and he takes her hand. Together, they walk out, him saying when she needs to step to one side rather than pulling her in that direction.

She opens her eyes when they’re well out of the kitchen, but she doesn’t let go of his hand. They sit on the couch together, and she curls into him as soon as he’s set the glass of water down. They’re quiet for a bit, Bill just rubbing slow, wide circles on her back as she shakes.

“You have PTSD, don’t you?” he asks after some time, five minutes or fifteen; her internal clock has shut down.

That surprises her more than it should, once she thinks about it. He probably has friends who do, given the army and war and all. “Yeah.”

“Flashbacks?”

“Panic attack. Would’ve been flashbacks if I looked around the kitchen.”

“Something happen in there?” he asks carefully.

She swallows. “It’s where he broke my—and he hit Sam.”

He nods and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “When was that?”

“Two years ago.”

“Want me to stay the night?” He runs his hand through her hair.

“I’ll have nightmares,” she says dully.

“Had a few of those myself.”

“If you do,” she starts, then searches for the words. John knows all this, and Liz doesn’t have to follow the same rules. John is just as safe as her sister, but his gender means that doesn’t matter when this happens. “If you do,” she says again, “I need you to not touch me without warning me, and don’t touch me to wake me up if I have a nightmare.”

“All right,” he agrees and kisses her again.

He makes her a cup of chamomile-lavender tea after some time and doesn’t reach for her when he sits back down; she shifts to lean into him, and only then does he wrap an arm around her back. Later, she takes a warm bath, and he sits in the bathroom, telling her stories about when Dawn was little. In bed, she shifts until her back is pressed to his front and curls halfway into the fetal position, facing the door; having her back protected makes it better. She doesn’t have to worry about what’s behind her; she’s safe with him there.

“We’ll pick the kids up in the morning,” he tells her. “Could all go to breakfast together.”

She nearly smiles. “That would be nice.” She moves away enough to find her phone so she can text her sister not to feed her older kids breakfast. 

“Then come back here and hang out,” he continues, talking into her hair now that she’s back against him. “If you want.”

“We could go swimming if it’s warm enough,” she suggests.

“I like that. I’ll have Dawn get her suit when I pick her up.”

“We can take my van.” Her minivan is a soccer mom car, and while she’s never driven a soccer team anywhere, it does fit her, her sister, her kids, and her nieces, so it’s easily big enough for the six of them.

“All right. If you’re not up to driving in the morning, I will.”

“Mmm.” She reaches back to run her hand down his bare leg; he’s stripped to his boxers. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, beautiful.”

She could love him, so easily, and it feels dangerous.

*

“Your mom is taking you to breakfast,” Aunt Liz says after everybody’s awake. She has Zach in his booster seat, and he’s eating all messy because he’s still a toddler.

Sam studies Aunt Liz. “Did she say why?”

“She’s introducing you to her boyfriend.” Aunt Liz sounds distracted, probably because she’s trying to get Zach to eat a piece of peach instead of smushing it.

Karen bites her lip and hunches her shoulders in and up. She doesn’t want Mommy to have a boyfriend. “How come?” she asks. Her voice comes out small. 

Sam looks down at her, then wraps his arm around her, and she huddles into her big brother.

“She really likes him, I think.” Aunt Liz looks over at her. “Oh Karen, it’s going to be okay. John met him and liked him, remember?”

Karen nods. It’s true, he did, but so did Sam, and Sam looked all grouchy about him when he came back and sat with her and Zach. Sam wouldn’t say why, though.

“Karen, want to go watch cartoons?” Sam asks.

“Your mom should be here in about an hour,” Aunt Liz says. “Sam, turn them off in forty-five minutes so you and Karen can wash up.”

“Okay. C’mon, Kare.”

Karen keeps close to her brother’s side, mostly because he still has his arm around her. Valerie and Melanie are gone with Uncle Ron right now, so it’s just her and Sam in the playroom. Sam switches on the TV and finds cartoons and then, instead of going and messing with his circuit boards or something, he sits beside her on the couch. She snuggles against him and tries to watch the cartoons, but it’s hard. Her thoughts keep spinning.

How come Mommy has to have a boyfriend? Why does she _want_ a boyfriend, after Dad? Karen knows not all men are like that—Uncle Ron isn’t, Mommy’s friends aren’t—but Dad was Mommy’s boyfriend again before, and he’s—

She can’t think about how he is. Instead, she chews on her lip and tries to watch _The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy_.

Sam’s not watching, either. She knows because he’s not laughing, and he usually does at least a little. He must not like the idea, either. She looks up and sees him looking at her. “I don’t want Mommy to have a boyfriend,” she confesses.

“Me neither,” Sam says grimly, “but it’s Mom’s choice.”

“You met him.” She wraps her arm around her brother’s. “What was he like?”

“Nice enough.” He sounds like he doesn’t want to say it. “I guess. He said he has a daughter my age.” He shrugs. “He wasn’t like Brett.” He always calls Dad that, even to his face. Dad always gets mad about it, too, but he doesn’t do anything because of Uncle Ron.

“But you only met him for a little while.”

“He said he’d treat Mom well.” Sam reaches across his body to stroke Karen’s hair. “I think I believe him about it. Mom hasn’t seemed like she’s hurt after she sees him, has she?”

Karen bites her lip. You can’t always tell, that’s the point, it’s how they work, but she doesn’t say as much. If she does, then Sam will ask questions, and—

“Are you okay?” Sam sounds worried.

Karen sniffles and swipes at her eyes. “I don’t want another dad. One’s bad enough.”

“Kare, Mom’s only gone out with him five times. That doesn’t mean she’ll stay with him or marry him or anything. Five’s hardly any. I remember when John met Owen. They dated for more than a year before they moved in together, and you know what they’re like.”

She nods miserably. “I want it to be just you and me and Zach and Mommy.”

“Me too,” he admits. 

Karen doesn’t say anything else to that; she can’t. If she does, then Sam will ask questions she can’t answer. So she just looks at the TV and doesn’t actually watch it, mostly holds onto her brother, until Sam says to her, “Time to get ready to go.”

Karen slides off the couch and scuffs her foot against the carpet. “I want to stay here.”

“I don’t think Mom would let you. Come on.” Sam offers his hand. She takes it even though she’d much rather hide under the table or something for the whole time they’re supposed to be at breakfast with Mommy’s boyfriend. She doesn’t think Mommy or Aunt Liz would understand, but she bets Uncle Ron would.

“Where’s Zach?” she asks as they climb the stairs.

Sam shrugs. “Dunno. With Aunt Liz, probably.”

Sure enough, a second later, Karen hears Zach loudly saying, “Dess!” from the guest room, where he sleeps with Sam when they stay over. Karen stays in Valerie’s room.

Karen is ready to go to breakfast before Mommy gets there, mostly because Sam keeps checking on her and making sure she’s doing what she’s supposed to do. She has her overnight bag all packed and down by the door before Mommy opens the door.

“Liz,” Mommy calls, “I’m stealing my kids.”

Zach squeals and dashes from the playroom to the front door, shrieking, “Mommy!” so Karen and Sam get up and follow their baby brother. Mommy sweeps Zach up and settles him on her hip, kissing his forehead.

“Not until you give me a hug,” Aunt Liz calls back. She comes downstairs while she’s still putting an earring in, and Karen wonders what would happen if she tripped on the stairs while she’s doing that. “And introduce me.” Her voice sounds weird, and Karen turns to look up at her. Maybe Aunt Liz doesn’t like this, either.

“Zach, this is Bill,” Mommy says, ignoring Aunt Liz. “Say hi, baby.”

“Hi!” Zach chirps. He stares at the strange man, his eyes wide, and then leans out of Mommy’s arms toward him. Karen cringes, but the man catches him and doesn’t let him get hurt.

“Hi, Zach,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.” He looks over at Sam and Karen, and Karen steps behind her brother. “Sam, it’s good to see you again.”

“Karen, say hi,” Mommy says gently. “Please come out from behind Sam when you do.”

Karen edges out from behind her brother most of the way, only because Mommy asked. “Hi,” she whispers.

Mommy’s boyfriend gives her a soft smile. “Hi, Karen. It’s great to meet you.”

Okay, she said hi, now she’s going back behind Sam. She just peeks out from behind his arm. Sam puts his hand behind him, and she clings to it.

“I’m Liz,” Aunt Liz says in her all-business voice. “Brenda’s older sister.” She holds out her hand.

Mommy’s boyfriend shakes it. “I’m Bill. It’s nice to meet you.”

Karen watches Aunt Liz’s expression, fascinated. It changes a bunch of times before settling on the one that means she’s trying not to give anything away. There’s probably a word for that. She’ll have to remember to ask Sam or Mommy. “And you,” she says. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a sergeant in the army.”

Aunt Liz looks like she does _not_ like that answer. “Really.”

“Been in since I was seventeen.”

That’s a _long_ time, if he’s old enough to have a kid the same age as Sam. Mommy was pretty young when Sam was born, and she was twenty-two then! If he was twenty-two when his daughter was born, then he’s Mommy’s age—thirty-four—and thirty-four minus seventeen is…

She needs paper. Or a calculator or to ask Sam.

“Brenda mentioned you have a daughter,” Aunt Liz says, and her voice sounds like snow.

He nods. “She’s the reason I joined up. She was born the day after I did.” Twelve plus seventeen… he’s twenty-nine, five years younger than Mommy.

Aunt Liz purses her lips. “Be good to my sister,” she says in the voice that _nobody_ disobeys. Karen’s pretty sure it even works on almost all grownups except Mommy and Grandma and Grandpa.

He looks at Mommy and smiles almost the way Uncle Ron smiles at Aunt Liz. “I will.”

“Enjoy your breakfast,” Aunt Liz adds. “Kids, you have everything?”

“It’s all by the door,” Sam says. “Karen brought her stuff down, too.”

“Good.” Aunt Liz steps over and kisses Sam’s cheek, then bends down to cup one of Karen’s cheeks with her hand and kiss the other. “You’re okay, Karen,” she says softly. “I think he’s okay.”

Karen throws her arms around Aunt Liz’s neck and clings hard. Right in her ear, she says, “But you don’t like him.”

Aunt Liz laughs and, just as softly, says, “I might not like him, but I think he adores your mom.”

Okay. Then this might be okay. Karen lets go and follows Sam over to their mommy and her boyfriend. “Bye, Aunt Liz,” she says over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you guys at church tomorrow,” Aunt Liz says. “I love you.”

“Lub’u!” Zach shouts, waving at her. 

“Indoor voice, Zach,” Mommy says, but she looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Let’s go, kids. We need to pick Dawn up.”

Sam looks at Mommy’s boyfriend—Karen doesn’t know what to call him—as they walk out of Aunt Liz’s house. “Dawn’s your daughter?”

He nods. “Almost the same age as you, just a few months older.”

“Where does she go to school?”

“Achievement First. Middle school version.”

“I go to Bradstock Primary. Karen does too.”

Karen kicks at her brother’s ankle for giving that away. He ignores her.

“That’s a good school,” Mommy’s boyfriend says. “You’re going to Bradstock Secondary in a year?”

“Yeah.”

They reach the car, and Sam opens the sliding door. Mommy’s boyfriend sets Zach in his car seat and buckles him in, careful of his dress, before getting in the passenger seat. Karen usually sits in the middle row, with Zach, but this time, she goes back with Sam and slouches down so no one can see her from the mirror.

“Karen, sit up straight,” Mommy says.

Darn. She does and buckles herself in. A minute later, Mommy pulls out of the driveway.

Dawn turns out to be even taller than Sam, even though he’s pretty tall. She’s almost as tall as her dad and Mommy! And she’s _so_ pretty. Karen can’t take her eyes off Dawn’s shiny, almost-black hair that goes all the way down past her waist. She wishes she could play with it. They don’t get really introduced when they pick her up, though, since Karen and her brothers stay in the van.

When they get to IHOP and all pile out, with Mommy getting Zach this time (and that makes something in Karen’s tummy unknot), Karen says shyly to Dawn, “Hi.”

Dawn smiles at her. “Hi, I’m Dawn.”

“I’m Karen. I like your hair.”

She touches it. “Thank you! It’s a lot of work.”

Karen believes it. Brushing it must take _forever_. Even her hair takes a long time, but that’s mostly because it’s curly. It only goes down to about the bottoms of her shoulder blades, but Mommy says really it’s longer and the curls just make it look shorter.

“Hey, I’m Sam,” Sam says to her.

“Hey, Sam. Where do you go?”

“Bradstock. You play any sports?”

“Soccer. You?”

“Lacrosse.”

And then they start talking about sports, so Karen has the choice of feeling like she’s interrupting that or being with Mommy and Mommy’s boyfriend. This would be a lot better if Zach could really talk. But he can’t yet because he’s just a toddler, not even two, so Karen holds Mommy’s hand as they walk through the parking lot and stays quiet.

Breakfast is kind of strange. Usually, Karen and Mommy and Sam talk, and Zach talks as much as he can even if it’s not words. Now, there’s two more people there, and those people talk a _lot_ , even compared to Karen’s family. Her biological family, not her whole family, because her non-biological uncles and aunts also outtalk her biological family. But Dawn and her dad don’t talk over everyone. They talk _to_ everyone, and they’re funny and nice, and Dawn’s only sarcastic to her dad. Karen keeps her mouth shut and just watches. Dawn must love her dad a lot. She seems really, really comfortable with him, and she teases him as much as he teases her. 

It’s not like how Uncle Ron is with Valerie and Melanie. Sort of like how Uncle Greg is with Jeannette, but even more. It makes Karen wish she had a good dad she could do that with.

She hangs back when they’re leaving. The way everyone’s sitting in the round booth, Dawn’s dad will be almost the last to leave, and Mommy will be one of the first. Mommy has Zach, and Sam and Dawn are talking right behind her, so it’s just Karen and Dawn’s dad when she timidly tugs on the hem of his shirt. 

He looks down at her, and he just looks so _kind_ that Karen’s sure it’s okay when she asks, “What do I call you?”

“You can call me Bill,” he says, and he _sounds_ kind, too. It almost makes Karen cry.

Instead, she holds his hand in the parking lot, and when they get home, she doesn’t worry too much about Mommy and Zach being downstairs with him. Still, she goes upstairs with Sam and Dawn instead of being close to Bill, and Dawn lets her try to braid her long hair, even though she messes it up. She likes Dawn, and she thinks Dawn likes her family; that makes the fact that Mommy has a boyfriend easier. And with how Dawn is with her dad, maybe Bill is okay. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Brenda and Bill talk about child custody and names once they get married. Brenda has a particularly unpleasant nightmare. Karen, too, has nightmares, but she doesn't want to talk about them.

“I got you something,” Bill says one night when all the kids are asleep—or supposed to be asleep—upstairs at Brenda’s; they took them out for dinner and are planning to go shopping for summer clothes and to a movie tomorrow, so Dawn’s staying over in Karen’s room.

“Oh?” Brenda glances at him.

“Yeah.” Bill stands and leans in to give her a quick kiss before going to search Dawn’s backpack, which she’s left in the below-stairs cupboard, the one Karen calls Harry Potter’s cupboard, where Brenda’s kids keep their overnight bags. It takes some rummaging—why does she even _need_ this much with her for one night?—but he finds the small blue box. When he returns, he hands it to her. “I thought you should have one.”

She beams at him. Teasing—at least, he hopes she’s teasing—she asks, “What, you’re not going down on one knee?”

“You’re the one who picked the date,” he returns. “You should do it.” He sits back beside her. 

“Did you do that last time?”

He shakes his head. “We were kind of in the moment there, and it was sudden. Besides, I couldn’t afford to give her a ring or anything.”

“How romantic,” she teases, “never doing the traditional proposal.” She opens the box. 

He knows what it is: a slim gold band with a tiny diamond, but at least it’s in her size. “I’ll get you something bigger later,” he begins, “but—”

“It’s beautiful,” she interrupts. She turns to kiss him, slow and burning, and then presses the box into his hand. “Put it on me?”

He takes the ring out and slides it on her left ring finger. “You’ll have a tan line by the end of the summer.”

“I’ll love it,” she says with a smile.

“There are some things we need to talk about.” He closes the box and leans forward to set it on the table.

“What are they?”

“Dawn, mainly.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “What about Dawn?”

“Well,” he says, “first, guardianship of her in case if I’m deployed again.” 

“I assumed I would have it.”

“I did, too, but I didn’t want to leave you with her suddenly when you were expecting her to be Mum’s responsibility, legally.”

Brenda rolls her eyes. “Marrying you means I take on your kid, too. Same as you’re taking on mine.”

He smiles at that. “They’ll all be _our_ kids in a couple of months.”

“They will,” she agrees. “What’s next?”

The next is more serious. Bill turns on the couch to face her, bending his left knee so it’s against the back and he can face her properly. She promptly mirrors him. “Dawn and I have talked about this,” he begins, “and she’s on board.”

Brenda doesn’t say anything, just watches him, a small crease forming between her eyebrows.

“Would you—and you can absolutely say no, I don’t want to pressure you—would you be interested in adopting Dawn?”

She blinks. “I… did not expect that.”

“Dawn’s never going to call you ‘Mom’,” he continues. “You’ll always be ‘Brenda’ to her. Joyce can’t be replaced for her.” Or him, for that matter; this marriage won’t be compared to his first one, and he won’t compare Joyce and Brenda. All the same, one can’t replace the other.

She nods. “I completely understand that.”

“But she and I—and she brought it up—were wondering if you’d adopt her.”

She visibly startles. “What? She asked?”

“She doesn’t want to risk being taken,” Bill explains. “Joyce’s parents have tried to get custody of her before, after Joyce died. Court was on my side, and when I had Mum—her relative—as her guardian while I was gone, it was fine. Nothing could happen. But you’re not a blood relative, even if you’ll be her stepmother. They might try to challenge that. Dawnie loves them, but she doesn’t want to live with them.”

“Oh.” She goes quiet for a minute. “Well. I… did not expect that question. Of course I will. I’m honored that she brought it up, actually.”

He smiles, relieved. He wouldn’t have liked telling Dawn that Brenda didn’t want to. “I’ll find out what we need to do for that, then.”

Brenda nods. “Good. We should find out if Joyce’s maiden name is the one she’ll need for Social Security purposes or if it’s going to be mine, by the way. It’s going to matter in a few years.”

He cocks an eyebrow at her.

“FAFSA. I assume she plans on going to college,” she adds dryly.

“She damn well better, since she’s going.”

“I had my own questions, while we’re talking about this.”

“What’s that?”

She fiddles with her ring. It strikes him that, in a way, they’re currently wearing matching rings, even though theirs mean very different things. “I’m taking your name.”

He nods. She said that around when they chose a date. He can’t exactly say ‘got engaged’, since there was no proposal.

“I’ve done some research, and Sam has asked…” She looks up at him. “So has Karen, actually. They both want to also take your name, and I’d like Zach to if they do. You can’t adopt them,” she adds, “he still has rights to them. And it would be a pain in court to change their names. But if you agree, we could give it a shot.”

So now he knows how she felt when he asked about her adopting Dawn. He swallows. “I’d love that. I already feel like they’re my kids.”

Brenda smiles a bit. “I’ve talked to my attorney. We’ll probably be able to make it happen.” She sighs. “If I could only get his rights terminated, they’d really be yours.”

“They are in most important ways,” he says, meaning it. “I love them like they are.”

“You know they love you, right?” she asks. “All of them. You’re the first real father they’ve had.”

Bill knows exactly what she means by that. He might not have met the bastard, but he knows enough; Karen and Zach have both confided in him, and Sam’s only just getting over his standoffishness, two years after they first met. “If we ever get it terminated,” he says, “then I’ll be their father entirely.”

She smiles and leans over to kiss him. “Want to go to bed?”

“Absolutely.” He stands, taking her hand once she does the same.

*

The figure is faceless, broad-shouldered and trim, with what looks like short-cut hair. She can’t tell for sure, though; he’s in shadows. He’s about her height, or would be if she wasn’t shrinking away. He’s bellowing at her, nothing she can make out but with a painfully familiar tone, hand raised, and she stumbles backward. That draws him into the light so he can keep looming over her.

And he’s not dark-haired, not this time. He’s blonde, his eyes blue instead of hazel, and Brenda feels like her heart’s been ripped out.

“Brenda,” someone calls, their voice muffled.

She curls in on herself, trying to get away from the man—from _Bill_ —and from the voice. 

“Brenda. Brenda, you’re dreaming. Wake up. You’re just dreaming. Come on, beautiful, wake up.”

That drags her up and out of sleep. Her face is wet, and she’s curled into a ball, shaking. Bill isn’t touching her; he looks worried, though, and his hand is nearby on the sheet. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I—sorry.”

“I’ll get you some water,” he says quietly. He does that, stays quiet and calm and tells her everything he’s going to do when it hits her like this. He eases out of bed and pads off to the bathroom, where she hears the tap running.

Brenda scrubs at her face with her fingers, wiping away the tears as best as she can. She remembers the dream all too vividly. She doubts she’ll forget it soon.

She can’t bring herself to uncurl right now and so can’t reach the box of tissue. It’s all right, though, because when Bill comes back, he grabs a couple from the nightstand on his side. (Soon, it’s going to actually be his nightstand; soon, it’s going to be his home.) 

“Here.” He offers her the tissues first.

She takes it to clean herself up some, blowing her nose once she’s wiped her face. Her hands are still trembling. “Thanks.”

“Do you want the water now?” he asks, his voice still soft.

“In a minute.” Her throat feels tight, and it makes her voice come out choked.

“Is it okay if I get back in bed?”

The Bill from her dream, the twisted monster version of her fiancé, is not this Bill. That one wouldn’t ask, would just assume and take and not care at all. This one does his best to understand and help. And that’s why she can say, “Please.”

He does, sliding under the top sheet and turning to face her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not yet.” Not ever, but that’s not fair. She feels like he should know the nightmares, has felt that since the first night he came and kept her company. If he has to have the pain of knowing he can’t stop them, she should at least share why she wakes him with them. She just really does not want to share this one, not with him. She doesn’t want to hurt him.

“Okay. Can I touch you?”

“Keep it light?”

“Okay.” He just barely touches her hip with his fingertips and begins to trace nonsense patterns on her skin.

She sighs and focuses on the touch. Ever so slowly, her muscles unlock, and she stops trembling. Once she’s sure she won’t spill the water, she rolls to her back and sits up. “Water, please?”

“Sure.” He sits up, too, and hands her the glass.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

He rests his hand on her thigh and traces the same kind of patterns. “Doing better?”

“A little.” She sips the water, counts a breath, sips again. “I always tell you the nightmares.”

In the moonlight filtering in through the mostly-closed curtains, it looks like he nods. “Yeah.”

“Even when you’re not here.”

“You do,” he agrees.

“But I don’t know—this one might hurt you.”

He hesitates, his fingers pausing on her skin for a moment, before he resumes the patterns. “It helps you to tell me, right?”

“It does.” She sips her water again.

“Then tell me. I can take it.”

She closes her eyes, her hands clenching around the glass. “I—it started a lot like most of the others. A man looming over me, threatening, about to hit me. He didn’t this time, but he was going to. You woke me up in time. He was shouting at me. I don’t know what he was saying, but it sounded hateful and loathing.”

“All right,” he says quietly.

“I thought it was him.” She can’t bring herself to say the bastard’s name after a nightmare most of the time. “But he was partly in shadows, and I couldn’t see his face. So I pulled back, and—” Her voice catches. “And he looked like you,” she finishes miserably.

His hand stills, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry, babe, I don’t know why I dreamt that, but that’s what it was.”

“Have I ever scared you?” Bill asks carefully.

“No,” Brenda says instantly. “You’ve never.” When they just started getting serious, before they had a chance to fight, she explained what triggered her in arguments, and he paid attention. He’s always kept himself under control, not shouting or using threatening body language. “I don’t know why,” she repeats.

He rests his hand on her thigh, and she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even tense. “Did something happen recently? Did I do something?”

“I don’t…” She stops to think. “No. No, I can’t think of anything.” The only thing that’s really been different is that he gave her the ring, but she can’t imagine that would give her nightmares like this. She finishes off her water and pulls away from his hand just long enough to set the glass on the nightstand, then comes back and leans into his chest. “I’ll tell you if I think of anything. And I’ll make an appointment with Jen.” She hasn’t regularly seen Jen, her therapist, in a couple of years, but she goes in as needed, usually every few months. This, she thinks, is a needed time.

“Can I touch you more?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He wraps an arm around her and tugs slightly; she moves willingly to settle in his lap, their legs tangled. They’re both naked, but it’s not a sexual thing right now, just pure comfort and closeness. He wraps his arms around her waist, and she tips her head back onto his shoulder.

“I’m sorry you dreamt that,” he says in her ear, his voice still soft. “I wouldn’t ever, though. I’d cut off my own hand first.”

“I know, babe. I trust you with everything.” She pauses. “I trust you with my kids’ lives.”

She can hear him smiling when he says, “That means a lot.”

She smiles a bit, and they stay like that for some time, just talking and touching, until Brenda feels like she can sleep again and Bill sounds drowsy. Then they curl together in the middle of the bed, Bill spooning up behind her the way she likes after a nightmare or panic attack when he’s at her house, his arm around her waist, her hand holding his, and they fall asleep that way.

*

Karen has bad dreams sometimes. Lots of times it’s after she has to see Dad. She had to see him the day before, and then she had a nightmare and went to Sam and slept in his bed. He’s closer than Mommy and always lets her. Besides, Bill is here today and stayed last night, and she doesn’t like to interrupt their time together, especially because she’s pretty sure this is the last time before they get married.

Nightmares always mean she’s so tired, just exhausted, the next day, and she has to drag herself through everything—eating breakfast, Sunday school, starting her and Zach’s laundry after Zach sorts it, all of it. Mostly the nightmares are about how things used to be, before Mommy got the custody order changed so Karen and Sam didn’t have to stay with Dad every other weekend, but sometimes it’s about now, like the times Dad makes her sit on his lap, or it’s a dream about if Uncle Ron couldn’t supervise and they were alone with him. Uncle Ron’s always there in real life, but her dreams aren’t like real life very often.

“Karen,” Bill says gently when everyone else is doing stuff outside and she’s curled up in the corner of the couch, “do you feel okay?” He has a cup of coffee in his hand, steam still rising off it. That must be why he came inside instead of staying out by the pool.

It’s not like when she just met him, when just the question would make her want to hide. She loves him now. But that still doesn’t mean she can answer with the whole truth. “I had bad dreams last night.”

He nods. “Can I sit by you?” When she nods, he does, setting his coffee mug on the table, and continues, “I have bad dreams sometimes.”

She gives him a dubious look. He’s a grownup and a man. What can he have bad dreams about? “Really?”

“Yeah.” He sinks back into the cushions. “I’ve been in wars before. They leave scars.” When Karen eyes him, he clarifies, “Mental scars. I’ve never been wounded—not yet, anyway,” and he knocks on the wood table, “but in a war or even a peacekeeping action, you see people get hurt. You see them die. Sometimes they’re your friends. And you have to shoot at people, and sometimes…” He trails off, but she gets the picture. 

“Do you have them a lot?” she asks.

“Not very often when I’m here with your mom,” he says easily, “and I didn’t very often when Joyce was alive and I was at home with her. But when I’m alone, it’s worse.”

Karen nods. “When I have them, I go sleep with Sam a lot,” she confides. “Sometimes with Mommy, but her room’s farther, and I don’t want to make her too tired for work or interrupt your time with her.”

“Kare, you can interrupt our time whenever you need to,” he promises. “And you can tell us anything, you know that, right?”

She’s supposed to be able to, she knows. They talked about that in health class, how you can talk to an adult you trust and how they’ll help you. But there are some things she just can’t tell. Dad told her what he’ll do if she tells, and she loves her family too much. She’s just about to get a real dad, she can’t risk that. If anything happens to her family, she has to go live with Dad, and—

“Karen, why are you crying?” Bill asks.

She screws her fists against her eyes, trying to stop the tears, but they keep coming. “It hurts,” she sobs.

“What hurts, honey?”

“It…” Her voice breaks. “Inside, it hurts. I can’t—Daddy, it _hurts_.” She shoves herself off the arm of the couch and over to cling to Bill. “The nightmares, and… and…” She hiccups, sobbing again. “And when I have to see Dad, and…”

Bill holds her in his arms, stroking her hair and letting her cry into his shoulder. She can’t stop the tears, and she doesn’t know why. They just keep flooding out of her. 

Finally, she runs out. Bill’s shirt is soaked from tears and gross with snot. She pulls back, sniffling, and swipes her hand across her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says miserably.

“Shh, baby girl. You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He strokes her hair. “Can you talk to your mom about this?”

She tries to jerk away, but he won’t let her. “No! It would hurt Mommy, and she’d be sad, and I don’t want that to be my fault!”

“Karen, she’s your mom,” he says, sounding patient. “She loves you. She can’t take care of you unless you talk to her about how you hurt.”

She shakes her head violently. “No!”

He doesn’t push it, just pulls her back against his side. She resists at first, but when it doesn’t seem like he’s pulling her into his lap, she relaxes and goes with it. He doesn’t say anything else, just reaches to get her tissues off the side table so she can wipe her face and blow her nose, and, finally, Karen breaks the silence.

“I called you Daddy,” she says timidly.

He nods. “I heard that.”

“Is that okay? Can I?”

“I’d love it if you did, honey.”

She nods, resolved. She has a real daddy now. Dad’s just someone she has to see for four hours every two weeks. He’s not her _real_ dad now. 

She doesn’t think she’ll have any nightmares tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings this chapter: PTSD-related nightmares; hinted-at child sexual abuse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Bill gets to come home post-amputation. Dawn can't really handle it, but Karen can.

Bill has his laptop hooked up to the hospital’s wireless now, so he can get on Skype. He calls Brenda when they planned by email, about eleven at night in Germany, five in the evening back home, and she answers right away. She smiles at him and types for him to wait a minute, turns away for a moment—he’s guessing to talk to one of the kids—and then puts her headset on.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says.

“Hi, babe. How are you feeling?”

“Physical therapy makes it hurt worse, but they ice it at the end, and they make sure I get my painkillers.” He shrugs. “Good as I can be.”

“Do you have a firm date for a flight home?”

“No, but I do have a roommate now.”

“And you’re on so late?” She looks disapproving.

“He doesn’t give a fuck.” Bill turns his laptop away and says, “Hey asshole, say hi.”

Alex carefully twists to one side and waves at the laptop, and Brenda makes a surprised sound. “You got Alex?!”

“Yeah. Of all the luck, right?” He turns it back toward himself. “He’ll live.”

“What happened?”

“Firefight. He has a lot of holes that he didn’t before. No new ones in his head, though.”

“Bite me, Meyers,” Alex says amiably.

Bill flips him off and continues, “We’re trying to talk the staff into giving us the same flight home.”

“Good luck with that.” She sounds dubious. “If he’s hurt badly, I doubt it’s going to happen.”

He scoffs. “I lost _half my leg_. Do you really think they’d send me straight home? It’s only been a week.”

She shrugs. “We’d have you on outpatient care by now. Hospital stays are expensive.”

“I’m in the most managed of managed care here,” he points out. “The army either pays here, or they pay for Walter Reed or something.”

She makes a face. “I’d rather you come home.”

Something in his chest tightens. He’s not sure he wants to— _can_ —face his family like this. Especially not Dawn. “How’s Dawnie doing?”

“She’s… coping,” Brenda says carefully. “She’s incredibly upset, but I’m sure that’s not a surprise.”

Bill shakes his head. “I’ve always been stupid and promised not to get hurt, especially the last couple rounds here. Ever since Joyce.” She knows the rest of that.

“I know,” she says quietly, “and I understand. She’s just not doing well. She’s a daddy’s girl, you know that. She needs to know you’re all right.”

He clears the tightness from his throat. “Is she home? Can I talk to her?”

“She is. Just a minute.” Brenda takes off her headset and turns away again. 

A minute or so later, Dawn appears on camera, walking toward the computer. She picks up the headset and takes Brenda’s seat. “Hi, Daddy.” She looks pale, with deep, bruise-like circles under her eyes. Her voice is hoarse, and her hair looks a mess.

“Dawnie, baby, how are you?”

She chokes out a laugh. “How do you think?”

He ignores that. “I need you to take care of yourself, Dawn. I can’t think about this if I’m worried about you, and I need to focus on healing so I can come home.”

Her eyes brighten, and she blinks rapidly. “Daddy, will you—are you coming home soon?”

“End of the month, as far as I know.”

She nods and clears her throat. “How are you?”

“I’m in physical therapy now. Doing exercises, they’re doing some other therapies to get me used to it being gone, teaching me the right way to use crutches.” He shrugs. “It hurts, but I get ice on it after, and the nurses give me good painkillers.”

“Are you going to be okay?” his strong girl asks, her voice small, and it breaks his heart.

“Brenda’s going to be there, and she knows people who can help so I don’t have to rely on the VA—her insurance is my secondary. She’ll take care of things, you know that. I’ll be all right with some help, baby. I promise.”

“Daddy, it’s your _leg_.”

“I’m better off than my roommate,” he says, faux-cheerful. “Guess who it is?”

Dawn stares at him blankly. “I have no idea.”

He turns the computer. “Want to say hi?”

“Is that _Alex_?!” she exclaims. “What _happened_?!”

“Let me say hi to the kid,” Alex says, so Bill unplugs the laptop and coils the cord around the railing on the right side of his bed, carefully gets out of bed, and hops over to Alex’s, pushing his tray as a sort of unreliable support. He puts the headset on Alex, since his range of motion is pretty limited, and he says, “Hey, kiddo.”

He can’t hear Dawn’s side of the conversation, so he eavesdrops on his best friend’s. A lot of talking about his own injuries and when he’ll go home, what he and Anne are going to do when he can, and then his traitorous best friend starts talking about _him_ —and giving Dawn more explicit details than Bill wanted her to know yet. He’s tempted to snatch everything back, but that would make him look like an asshole. Instead, he lets Alex look that way—at least to him.

Finally, Alex says, “Here, I’ll give you back to your dad. Love you, kid.” He smiles a bit at whatever Dawn says, then says to Bill, “You can have her back.”

“How generous of you.” Bill takes back the headset and rolls the whole deal back to his bed, where he settles and plugs the laptop back in before saying to Dawn, “You all right?”

She looks vaguely queasy. “You didn’t tell me that stuff.”

“I didn’t want to dump it all on you at once,” he says frankly.

“Well, I asked, so don’t be mad at Alex.”

“This time,” he agrees. “When do you have your driving test?”

That, at least, gets her looking a little better, talking about that and her clubs and classes. He’s grateful for it. She doesn’t need to fixate on his leg.

*

They can’t be right there as Bill gets off the plane, but Brenda gets her family, Sharon included, as close as possible. She keeps checking her watch; the plane should have arrived half an hour ago, so where’s her husband?

It’s another twelve minutes before he shows up. A corporal is pushing him in a wheelchair, and Bill doesn’t look too pleased about that, though it could also be about the crutches he’s holding awkwardly around his laptop bag. There’s a bag hanging off the back of his chair, probably holding his temporary prosthesis; Brenda has an appointment set up with a physiatrist at Yale who will refer him to a prosthetist, probably also at Yale. She feels better about that than she does about him going to the VA hospital. 

Dawn doesn’t bolt toward him, like Brenda thought she would; she hangs back. Instead, Sharon’s the first one to him.

“My darling boy,” she says loudly enough that Brenda and the kids can hear, bending to hug him and kiss his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

The moment Sharon releases him, Brenda’s there, bending to kiss her husband deeply. “Hi, babe,” she murmurs when they part. 

“Beautiful, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” He runs a hand through her hair. “Let’s get home.”

She kisses him again, but before she can say anything, Zach manages to wriggle between them. He says cheerfully, “Hi, Dad!” and hugs him around the middle. Brenda’s pretty sure he jostles Bill’s leg, going by his expression, but he just kisses Zach’s head.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Mommy says you’re home for good,” Zach says matter-of-factly.

“She’s right,” Bill agrees. “I’m not going anywhere besides to see doctors for a time.”

Brenda turns and gestures to their other kids. “Come say hi.”

Dawn actually takes a step backward, but the other two come over.

“Hi, Bill,” Sam says, giving him a quick hug. Neither Brenda nor Bill has pushed Sam to call him ‘Dad’; Sam, of all of the kids, has the clearest memories of living with and being around Brett other than at visitation. Hell, Zach’s never done it. So Sam has understandable issues with the word.

“Hi, Daddy,” Karen says. She’s careful to avoid his left leg, but she hugs him tightly and kisses his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I have good medication, and I’m home. I’m okay, Kare.” Bill looks past the four of them then, and Brenda glances behind her. Dawn’s back past Sharon now. “Dawnie, I don’t get a hello?”

Dawn mumbles something. Brenda catches Bill’s gaze and presses her lips together. Hopefully, he gets it; Dawn’s been tense, not sleeping, worrying constantly over her father. It sort of makes sense that she’s staying away. If she does, it might not be real.

“I can take him from here,” Brenda says to the corporal.

“My orders are to get him to your car, ma’am.” He doesn’t let go of the handles of the chair.

“Martinez won’t change his mind, beautiful,” Bill says. “I tried. He was told by a major. I’m just a sergeant.”

Brenda sighs. “Baggage claim?” she asks.

He nods. “My duffel.”

“Then let’s go.”

She keeps pace with the chair as they walk, her hand on Bill’s arm, reassuring herself that he’s home and safe now. Sharon takes the SUV’s keys and vanishes while they wait at baggage claim for the bag. Sam’s the one to grab the duffel bag when it lands on the carousel; Dawn doesn’t make a move toward it. Then Brenda’s phone chirps in her purse, and she checks the text.

“Your mum’s waiting at the curb.”

“Then let’s go.” Bill sounds like he’s fighting impatience, exhaustion, or both. The group of them starts to walk to the door.

“Do we take the chair?” Brenda asks.

“No ma’am,” Corporal Martinez says. “I was told to tell you that you need to rent or buy one.”

“Martinez,” Bill growls. He looks at Brenda. “If you buy me a wheelchair, I’m filing for divorce.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she assures him and pauses. “Just a chair lift for the stairs.”

He mock-snarls at her, and then they’re out the door and to the SUV. Sam tosses the bag in the back, and Dawn yanks open one of the doors so she can scramble into the back seat. Brenda regards Bill a moment.

“Sam, sit with Dawn. Babe, you get this side. Zach, get in your seat.” The car seat is in the middle of the middle, so there’s no moving it necessary for Bill to have a place to comfortably sit.

The boys do as they’re told as Corporal Martinez puts on the chair’s brakes and comes around to offer Bill his hand. Bill ignores him thoroughly, handing his laptop bag off to Brenda; instead, he kicks up the footrests with his right foot, plants the crutches down, and swings himself up in a thoroughly impressive display of upper body strength that sort of turns Brenda on. She waits by the door and doesn’t offer a hand to stabilize him; once Bill’s gotten himself onto the seat, she takes the crutches from him. Karen climbs in on Zach’s other side just after Bill sits down.

She smiles at the corporal. “Thank you. I’m sorry he’s a lousy patient.”

“We all are,” he assures her. That bodes well for the coming months. He hands her the bag from the back of the chair, takes the brakes off, and turns to wheel the chair back inside. 

Brenda circles behind the car, puts the crutches, prosthesis bag, and laptop bag in the back with Bill’s duffel, and gets in the passenger seat. Once she closes the door, Sharon pulls away from the curb, and they head home.

*

School got out the same day as Dad got home. Karen has summer tutoring to reinforce science; she passed it, but barely, and that doesn’t prepare her for the next year at all. Sam could probably help, but he has other things to do. The fact that it’s tutoring instead of summer school means she doesn’t have a lot to do over the summer. She doesn’t have very many friends at school; she’s closest to her siblings, really, and Jeannette is one of her only friends her age. Jeannette’s busy with her grad student tutors for most of the summer, since she’s determined to start college a year from the coming fall even though she’ll only be thirteen. Karen’s sure she can do it, too. Dawn has two language classes at Capital, and Sam’s taking some way advanced math class there, not to mention physics. That basically leaves Zach, who Karen loves so much it hurts, but Zach is also five. (“And a _half_!” he reminds everyone who says that aloud.) And Zach spends a lot of time with Adamo, Rebecca, and Katie over the summers anyway; they all end up at one of the four houses most days, either with a nanny, Uncle Owen, Aunt Alice, or Dad and Grandma Sharon watching them.

So Karen’s been spending a lot of time with her dad and Grandma Sharon, except when Dad has appointments that Grandma Sharon takes him to.

“What does it feel like?” Karen asks one afternoon when Grandma Sharon’s in the kitchen starting dinner. She and Dad are facing each other on the couch, playing gin rummy. She’s working on getting him to teach her poker, even if Dawn says he’ll teach her to cheat, too.

“You’re the first one to ask that,” Dad says, but he doesn’t sound mad. He has his left leg up on the couch, and he’s not wearing the prosthesis; the soft plastic support around it is right there, since he’s wearing shorts, and he glances down at it. His mouth twists for a second.

Even so, Karen has to ask, “Is that okay?”

“Of course, Kare,” he assures her. “You can ask about it, I don’t mind.” He studies his hand of cards but doesn’t make a move. “My stump hurts,” he says at last. “It’s pretty sensitive, and sometimes things touching it make me feel sick. It also hurts a lot. That’s supposed to get better—the pain and the sensitivity. It’s already not as bad. The prosthesis hurts right now because it’s already painful and sensitive, and the prosthesis isn’t fitted quite right because I’m healing. That’s why I only wear it a few hours a day. They’ll start to fix the fit round the end of the month, definitely by the end of next, the prosthetist says.” He shuffles his cards around, but it doesn’t look like he really sees them. “My leg hurts.”

Karen frowns. He said that already.

“I know what you’re thinking, Kare. I don’t mean the stump. I mean the part of my leg that’s gone. It’s called phantom pain. Sometimes it also itches, and sometimes it feels like it’s twitching.”

“How?” she blurts out.

“Probably because my brain’s not used to it being gone. You know how sometimes something tickles your skin but nothing’s there?”

She nods.

“It’s a bit like that, except the part that tickles is as much not there as what’s doing the tickling.” Dad shrugs, closes his eyes for a second, then looks at her. “Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” she says, frowning again. It sounds weird still. “If it’s your brain, can Uncle Greg fix it?”

Dad smiles a little. “It’s not quite like that, Kare. It’s getting better on its own.” He draws a card, finally, but she’s not too interested in the game anymore, even though she’s way ahead in points.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, Kare?”

He might not like this one. “Can I—can I help Mom when she helps you with it?”

“It’s gross,” he warns, which isn’t a no. “I don’t want you to feel sick.”

“I can do it.” The firmness in her voice surprises even her.

“Well then,” he says after a second, “you can start helping tonight. Maybe you can take over from Mum in the afternoon at some point.”

Karen beams. “I’ll be good at it, I promise.”

“Zach can’t help,” he cautions her, “and don’t go telling him or the other littles about it.”

“I’m not giving Zach nightmares,” she sighs. “I won’t tell. Except Sam.” Not Dawn, though. She might be talking to Dad again and spending time with him, but she won’t even look at his leg or the space where it used to be if he’s not wearing the prosthesis under pants.

“We’ll tell your mom when she gets home.” Dad taps the piles of cards between them. “Your turn.”

Karen tells Mom before dinner but after she’s had a chance to change out of work clothes into her comfortable clothes: light shorts and a t-shirt. Changing means Mom’s switched modes over to “at home” instead of “at work”. 

Mom doesn’t try to talk her out of helping; she just says, “We’ll do it while Sam and Dawn take care of dishes, once Zach gets in the bath.”

Karen grins. “Just tell me what to do.”

“I will. Go set the table, please.”

Dinner is spaghetti with homemade meatballs, something Mom usually only makes on weekends. Grandma Sharon has a lot more time on weekdays than Mom does, though, especially when the little kids are at the other houses. It doesn’t taste the same as Mom’s, but it’s still good. Even so, Karen doesn’t pay a lot of attention to her food; she’s too curious about what her mom’s going to have her do to help.

After dinner, everyone splits up. Grandma Sharon takes Zach upstairs for his bath while Dawn and Sam start to clear the table, and Karen goes into the living room with her parents.

“Go get a hand towel and a washcloth,” Mom tells her. “I’ll get everything else.”

Karen nods and goes to do that. When she comes back, her mom has a pack of gauze and two different little tubs of creams, already opened, plus bottles of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol. She has her box of nitrile gloves, too. They’ve unfolded the couch into the bed they’ve been staying on, and Dad’s sitting near the edge. Mom’s on the floor.

“Ready, Kare?” Dad asks.

Karen nods. “Yeah.” 

“Give me the towel.” He folds it and puts it under the end of his stump; he’s already taken the support— _socket_ , she reminds herself—and the socks that go under it off.

“Okay, come here. You need to wear gloves to help prevent infection in case the incision line’s split at all,” Mom tells her. She takes a pair from the box and pulls them on. “I already washed my hands. That’s important in case there’s a hole in the gloves. Now I’m going to examine it. Take a look.”

Karen stares, a little fascinated. The end looks reddish and tender, and she can see the brand-new scar along the incision line. The scar tissue itself is bright pink and raised.

“You okay?” Dad asks her.

“Yeah.” She looks at her mom. “It’s healed?”

“The skin is. The muscles are taking their time—you can’t see it, but it takes them longer to grow back together.”

She nods.

“Now we’ll put the cream for the scar on.” Mom follows her words with the action, gently massaging the cream in.

“I could do it,” Dad puts in, “but it’s in an awkward spot unless I set up a mirror.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it makes him feel sick, but he won’t admit it.”

“Does not,” Dad mutters. 

Mom ignores him. “If you do this, be really gentle. We’re doing the desensitization stuff—you’ve seen it, right?”

Karen nods. “When you tap it and touch a lot, right?”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“Because this area isn’t used to being exposed. The skin is, but the way a person’s brain makes its connections means it still thinks there’s something here. It has to learn differently still.”

“The socket helps with that,” Dad puts in, tapping it lightly. “Hand me the bottle of alcohol and the cloth, sweetheart.”

She does, and he starts cleaning the inside of his socket. She watches for a moment before turning back to what her mom’s doing.

“Now the other cream. It helps with numbing it for a little while.”

“Nice relief,” Dad mutters.

“But we only do it three times a day,” Mom continues, “so he doesn’t accidentally hurt it when he does exercises and can tell if the socket’s too tight from swelling or anything. It’s also an anti-inflammatory, kind of like Advil. The numbing is the other reason to wear gloves. You need to touch lightly with this, too.” 

Karen’s sure she won’t actually get to do this on her own, even though she’s sure she can handle it; Grandma Sharon would probably worry too much, and Dawn might get upset by a kid taking care of Dad’s stump—she can’t even call it that yet, just _his injury_. Still, she thinks it’s good to know how to help. It makes her feel… useful. She hasn’t felt that way since they found out why Dad didn’t call on Dawn’s birthday and Dawn fell apart, and nothing Karen tried could help. 

This isn’t going to make anything better for Dawn, but the way Dad hugs her after she helps Mom clean up and comes back tells her how glad he is that she could handle it. She grins and grabs the remote. “Can I pick?”

“Sure,” he agrees.

It’s not that nothing’s different; Karen can’t fool herself and couldn’t even before she saw under the socket and socks. She’s never had that ability that she can remember. But her dad’s going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings this chapter: References to gunshot wounds from war and traumatic amputation.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Karen's sexual abuse at Brett's hands comes out, and the family feels the effects of the revelation.

Bill sits outside with Karen by the neighbor’s picket fence, rubbing her back and holding her hair back when she starts to dry heave. He can’t ask while she’s like this; what she’s told him and what he knows about her biological scum is enough for now. Part of his mind is planning how to kill the bastard, something he won’t follow through on, he knows. The rest is worrying about his daughter and how they’ll tell her mother. This isn’t something he can keep from Brenda, not like Karen’s nightmares or anything lesser like that. It’s too huge.

Finally, Karen stops heaving and rubs her hands over her face. “Daddy?” she says in a small voice.

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

“He said—he said he’d kill Mom and Sam and Zach if I ever told. But—but I _had_ to,” she pleads. “I couldn’t _not_ now. With how Mom sounded and what you said, it—it was too much.” She chokes on a sob. “If he finds out—”

“Karen,” he cuts in before she can work herself into another panic attack, “do you think he could get through me?”

She darts a glance at him. “You’re not always with them.”

“If he actually followed through—and I think he’s too much of a coward and too afraid of prison to do it—it would be at home, when everyone’s here. And he could _not_ get through me. Not even if he was armed.” He’s confident in that; the bastard is a high school history teacher. He himself is an honorably discharged former Special Forces sergeant. It’s almost pathetically mismatched.

Not that the scum would follow through on it. Not now. Maybe before, when it was just Brenda and the kids, but not now that Sam’s in high school and Bill and Dawn are in the house. 

Karen twists slightly, enough to press her forehead against his upper arm; he has to let go his loose hold on her hair. “I’m scared,” she says, barely audible.

Bill can’t honestly say it’s going to be okay. It won’t be okay for a long time. “We’ll take care of you,” he promises. “We’ll deal with this.”

She nods tentatively. “You’re telling Mom.”

“I am,” he says, “but not today.” He can’t wreck the day she has the baby. “Tomorrow. Do you want to be with me?”

She gives him a terrified look. “Mom’s going to—” She cuts herself off.

“Going to what?” he asks patiently. 

“I don’t know,” and now she’s crying, hiccupping sobs that tear through her voice. “She’ll—she’ll be mad at me, she won’t believe me, she—don’t make me be there, _please_ don’t make me be there, I—”

His hand stills where he was rubbing circles on her back. “Sweetheart, she won’t be mad at you.” She’ll be furious at their daughter’s molester, but that’s different. “She’ll absolutely believe you. You wouldn’t lie to us.”

Karen breaks. She falls against his chest, clinging to him, wracked with harsh cries that tear themselves from her throat. His shirt has soaked spots within seconds, but that doesn’t matter. He wraps his arms around her, rocking her as best he can with their awkward position, him sitting against the fence, her facing it and her upper body against his chest. The best he can do is hold her, stroke her hair, and rock her upper body a few inches in each direction.

She cries herself dry. When she manages to pull back and look up at him, his shirt is drenched and disgusting. Her face is puffy, splotched with red, her eyes bloodshot. 

“What now?” she asks.

“Now,” he says quietly, “we go home if your mom’s had the baby. You stick with your siblings, me when I come downstairs. You talk to me as much or little as you want.”

“After that?” she asks, her voice smaller. “Tomorrow?”

He sucks in a breath, steeling himself. “We tell your mom, and we call the police.”

She gives him a horrified look. “I—no, we can’t, please!”

“We call them,” he repeats resolutely. “We file a report. We get the evil bastard put away for a long time.”

“But it was so long ago,” she pleads. “Too long ago to do anything.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. We’ll find out tomorrow.” He closes his eyes for a brief moment. “Kare, can I ask you something that’s going to upset you?”

She meets his eyes for a split second before nodding heavily. “Okay.”

“How old were you?”

“When it started or—” She can’t seem to finish.

Not just once. It happened over a period of time. Bill’s murderous thoughts gain a new foothold in his mind. “Started and ended.”

“Three.” She coughs deeply, as though there’s something in her throat, and he thinks she might start retching again. “And—a few nights, I think, before Mom ended things. When I was about five.”

Bill’s gut clenches, and he briefly thinks it’s his turn to throw up. Two years. Two years, and no one knew. It might have even happened in Brenda’s home, given that the demonic scum would have stayed over when Brenda was dating him again. “We’re going to deal with this,” he says. He’s not sure which of them he’s trying to convince.

“How?” she asks. “It won’t just—just go away. I can’t stop the nightmares or remembering it or—or anything.” She swallows. “How?”

“Therapy,” he begins. “Getting him put away for a good long time. Terminating his parental rights. Everything we can to separate you from him as much as possible.”

“He used to make me sit on his lap,” she mumbles. “During visitation.” She drops her chin to her chest, and he can barely make out the rest. “Now he talks about how _pretty_ I am and how I’m growing up to be a _beautiful young lady_.” The words she emphasizes have a hateful bitterness to them. “And Uncle Ron doesn’t know, so—so he couldn’t make him stop and protect me and—” Her voice catches.

“Sweetheart,” he says after a moment, when it’s clear she’s not going to continue, “I’m going to call and see if we can go home without upsetting you.”

She nods, and he shifts enough to get his phone out of his pocket; he originally had it on him in case he needed to call for help for Brenda. He hits the speed dial for Dawn automatically.

“How’s Karen?” Dawn asks the second she answers. 

“Not good. Is the baby here?”

“Yeah, about two or three minutes ago. Everything’s quieter now. It’s—”

“Don’t tell me,” Bill cuts in. “We’ll be home soon, then.” He ends the call and looks down at Karen, stroking through her curly hair. “All done. You want to go home and meet the baby?”

She nods and pulls away, swiping her arm across her face. It doesn’t help clean her face at all, but he doesn’t say as much. She struggles to her feet; he thinks all the crying and vomiting has worn her out. “Let’s go home.”

Bill stands, taking Karen’s offered hand as unnecessary help up. He drapes his arm around her shoulders. “This okay?”

She darts a glance at him and nods. “It’s good.”

He nods, and they walk back home together.

*

Brenda insists on being with Karen when the detective interviews her. Her daughter, though, hesitates between, “I won’t do it if Mom’s not there,” and, “I don’t want Mom to hear.”

It’s Brenda’s demand they go with in the end. They sit in an interview room on hard plastic chairs across the table from Detective Moynahan. She’s a hard-edged woman with lines around her mouth and deep frown lines on her forehead; Brenda can only imagine what it’s like to investigate sex crimes as a career.

Detective Moynahan opens with, “Do you need anything, Karen? Some water, maybe?”

Karen, her hands clenched together on the table so hard her knuckles are white, shakes her head. “No,” she mutters.

“I’m going to record this,” the detective says. She sets a mini recorder on the table between them. “I need to be able to come back to this later, and I don’t want you to have to talk about it every time.”

Karen nods, her head just barely jerking, and Brenda says, “Thank you.”

Moynahan settles in her chair, looking as comfortable as anyone can in a molded plastic chair. Then again, she’s probably used to them. She turns on the recorder, says who she is, who she’s interviewing, the date, the case number, and finally looks at Karen. “Karen, tell me what happened. Just the overview,” she adds.

Karen’s mouth works before she chokes out the words, “My fa—father raped me when I was little.”

Brenda reaches for her daughter; Karen flinches away before leaning into the touch of Brenda’s arm on her back.

“And your father is Brett Saunders,” Moynahan says.

Karen nods.

“Aloud, please,” she says gently.

“Yes,” Karen mutters.

“I’m going to have to ask you some hard question,” Moynahan says, much more gently than Brenda would have guessed she could. “If you need to take a break, tell me and we will.”

More than once over the next four hours, Brenda wants to cut in, shield her daughter from any of this and make it end, but the only way it’s going to end is if Karen never has to see the bastard again. So she holds her daughter when she cries too hard to answer a question and keeps a hand on her when she can talk. 

After, they drive home in near-silence; Brenda breaks it once to ask, “Do you want to get anything to eat?” since it’s been a good nine hours since breakfast, though she isn’t hungry.

“Not hungry,” Karen mutters.

Ten minutes later, she asks timidly, “Are you going to make me have therapy?”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Brenda says, which is not a no, and they both know it.

Karen just slumps down further in her seat.

They pull into the driveway a few minutes after that, and neither of them makes a move to get out. At last, Brenda sighs and looks over at her daughter. “Come on, honey. Let’s go inside.”

Karen blinks, her eyes bright. “Does—does everyone know?”

“Not Zach,” she says immediately. Her six-year-old is much too young, though he’ll eventually find out what happened to his sister. “But Sam and Dawn… yeah, they know.”

In a small voice, Karen asks, “Aunt Liz and everyone? Gramma and Grampa? Grandma Sharon?”

Brenda shakes her head. “Not yet, but they’ll find out. Uncle Ron’s probably going to need to testify, since he went to visitation with you. I don’t know if anyone else will. It’s up to you if your cousins know, at least for now.”

“I don’t want to tell anyone.” Karen’s breath catches. “Will you and Daddy?”

Brenda reaches over to stroke Karen’s cheek. “Liz and Ron can tell Valerie and Melanie, if you want them to.”

“Sam’s going to be so—so mad at himself,” Karen sobs. “It’s not his fault, Mom, but—”

“We’ll talk to him,” she promises. “You can tell him, sweetheart.” From the corner of her eye, she can see Bill rounding the corner of the walkway to the front door. “Let’s get out, Karen.”

Karen swipes at her eyes and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Okay.”

Brenda opens her door as Bill reaches it. She meets his eyes and shakes her head minutely. He grimaces but says, “The baby needs you, beautiful.”

Karen’s door slams, and she slumps around the front of the SUV. Bill turns to her, but Karen shies away and speeds up.

“She might not want to be around anyone for a while,” Brenda says. She fills him in quietly as they follow Karen into the house.

Sam’s holding a fussy Will when he meets them in the foyer. “I’m going to talk to Karen,” he says softly.

“All right.” Brenda takes the baby, and Sam turns to follow Karen up the stairs.

*

Karen tries to keep to herself for as long as she can, but no one lets her. She has more nightmares, and, after most of them, she wakes to Zach crawling into her bed and cuddling up to her. He usually heads off any other nightmares when he does that; it’s enough that she wants to ask him to just sleep in her bed from the start of the night. She doesn’t, but he starts taking it upon himself, staying awake until she comes up for the night and then getting in her bed after her.

The first time he does, he asks, “Can I sleep with you?” like he’s doing it for himself instead of her.

She nods and kisses his hair. “Thanks,” she says softly.

He nods solemnly. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I—not right now. Later.”

“Okay. You need to talk to Sam,” he adds, yawning.

“I know. Let’s go to sleep.”

Zach nods and curls closer to her, and she wraps around her little brother. He doesn’t manage to stave off bad dreams, but she doesn’t have any real nightmares.

The next day, she finds Sam in his room and asks, “Can I sit with you?”

He looks up at her from his laptop. He has dark circles under his eyes, and she feels awful for it. “Yeah.”

She sits on the bed beside him, wrapping her arms around one of his like she did when she was little. “Is this okay?”

“Of course.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head, even though she’s getting close to his height.

She closes her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder while he types. After what seems like a few minutes, she asks, “Are you okay?”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m supposed to ask you that.”

“Everyone’s asking me that,” she mutters. “I like that you aren’t.”

“I’m not okay,” he says after a moment. “I feel terrible, Kare.”

“You shouldn’t,” she says as firmly as she can manage. “It’s not your fault.”

“I was in the other room,” he says flatly. “You’re my little sister. I should have protected you.”

“How?” she asks.

He’s silent.

“He would have hurt you if you tried to stop him,” she continues. “If you told Mom—he said he’d kill you and Mom if I told, and he would have if you told, too. I wouldn’t have let you.”

“I could have called 911 if I knew,” he tries.

“You were a little kid.” She shakes her head. “I never thought it was your fault or you could have stopped him. Nothing did, even getting visitation changed.”

“What do you mean?” he asks cautiously.

“Remember how he’d make me sit on his lap?”

“Karen…”

“Even with Uncle Ron right there,” she says. “Even then, he made me, and he’d have a hard-on. And when Daddy started going, Dad— _Brett_ ,” and even she’s surprised by the hate in her voice, “told me how _pretty_ I’m growing up to be.”

Sam shudders. He shifts, then turns to wrap his arms around her, pressing his face into her curls. “God, Karen, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice muffled. “I should have done something, I don’t care if he would have hurt me. I should have protected you.”

“Sam,” she says, and she’s surprised she’s not crying yet, not really, even though tears are sliding down her cheeks, “ _Daddy_ being there didn’t stop him, and he could kill him with his bare hands. _Nothing_ stopped him.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice choked. It takes her a moment to realize he’s crying. _Sam_ is crying. She can’t remember the last time he did. He’s seventeen, almost an adult, her cool big brother, and he hurts enough that—

That’s it for her. The thought wrenches a sob out of her, and she clings to her brother just as hard as he’s holding her. 

She barely hears Dawn ask, “Guys?” some time later, and she doesn’t respond to their sister at all. She’s too wrapped up in her brother.

A little while after that, she does hear Mom, her voice broken, say, “Oh, my babies,” and Mom gathers the two of them in her arms.

Even then, with the two of them holding each other and Mom holding them, Karen cries herself dry. It seems like she’s doing that every day lately. Sam takes even longer to stop, and she doesn’t pull away from him until he does. Then she looks up, and Mom has tears running down cheeks.

The next day, Mom pulls the two of them aside and says softly, “I set up family counseling. It’s just going to be us to start with,” she adds, “but we’ll have Zach come a couple of times, and I think we should have your dad and Dawn come sometimes, too.”

Karen, too drained to argue, nods. That makes two therapists she’ll be seeing, plus a psychiatrist every two weeks. 

Sam just says, “When?”

“Friday evening. I made sure it wouldn’t conflict with anything for you then.”

He nods. “I’ll see if Leila can go out Saturday instead.”

“Okay.” Mom kisses their cheeks. “Want to watch something together?” She tries for a smile. Karen can’t remember the last time she’s seen a real smile from their mother, not even with the baby.

“I have homework,” Sam says dully.

Karen hasn’t gone to school yet this year. Her psychiatrist has written a note for her to be out for at least two weeks, and she says it can be even longer. She’s probably going to end up seeing the guidance counselor, too, when she does start going, and she’ll have to see the nurse every lunch for her anxiety medication. She’s really not looking forward to it.

“I want to tell Zach,” she says suddenly, before Sam’s even left their little huddle.

“Are you sure?” Mom asks quietly.

“Just—just that Brett hurt me and that’s why we don’t see him.”

“I want to be there,” Sam says, his voice hollow. “In case he has questions.”

“We’ll all be there,” Mom says. “All three of us.”

Karen could argue and probably get her way, but she’s too tired for it. “I want to tell him after dinner.”

Mom nods. “Okay.”

She must say something to Daddy, since he takes Dawn and Will out for ice cream after dinner. Zach usually gets to watch something after dinner, once he’s taken a shower and helped clean up, but instead, the three of them sit down with him.

“I want to tell you why I’m having nightmares,” Karen says before he even gets to pick a movie.

Zach turns to her and nods. “Okay.”

“It’s why we haven’t had to see Brett.”

Zach studies her.

“When I was little, littler than you are, before Mom even got pregnant with you, Sam and I used to have to stay with him every other weekend.” Karen swallows. “I slept in the living room because he didn’t like me to sleep in the same room as Sam.”

“That’s why he got mad when he found out we share a room,” Zach guesses.

“Probably.” Karen was spitefully pleased when he got angry over it and couldn’t do a thing, not with Uncle Ron there and how he wasn’t allowed to talk to Mom at all or come to the house. “Anyway—why I have a lot more nightmares now. At night, after Sam went to bed, Brett would hurt me. Sam didn’t know,” she adds, “and he was just a kid, so he couldn’t do anything, anyway.”

Sam gives her a look like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t say anything.

Zach scoots over and hugs her around the middle. “You didn’t tell Mommy?”

Karen shakes her head. “No.” She swallows. “He told me—he said he’d kill Mom and Sam if I told anyone.”

Zach gasps.

“He can’t do anything now,” she adds hastily. “He’s in jail, and he can’t get out.” That’s not the whole truth—she knows about bail and how someone could still pay it for him—but Zach doesn’t need to know that. Besides, it’s like Daddy said. He’s around too much for Brett to have the nerve to even try anything. “But that’s—that’s why I’m having so many nightmares. You help a lot,” she adds.

“I’ll keep sleeping with you,” Zach says solemnly. “Is it like he hurt Mommy?”

“Yes,” Mom says before Karen can say anything, “it was like that.”

“What’s gonna happen to him now?” he asks.

“Eventually,” Mom says, “there’s going to be a trial. If he’s found guilty, he’ll go to prison for a long, long time.”

“Good,” Zach says forcefully. “We don’t ever have to see him again?”

“No,” Mom says, “you don’t ever.”

Karen knew that, of course, but hearing that unknots one of the many ropes in her throat. She hugs Zach tighter, and when she goes up for bed, he’s already in hers, watching the door for her. She comes in, and he sits up, opening his arms wide to hug her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings this chapter: Past incestuous child sexual abuse (of a toddler and of an older child), present incestuous sexual harassment of a preteen, anxiety.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Karen has tried to commit suicide. She starts dealing with it in her own, completely unhealthy way, despite her parents' efforts.

Bill rubs his eyes and drinks his awful vending machine coffee in an effort to stay awake. In the past three days, the whole time Karen’s been in the hospital, he’s probably slept ten hours. While he used to be accustomed to getting about that little sleep, he’s been out of the army for three years and now likes getting a decent amount of sleep whenever he can. It’s difficult when his daughter has tried to commit suicide, though. He and Brenda have hardly gone home, even, just long enough to assure Will they’re alive, shower, and change their clothes—and that in shifts. He’s just indescribably glad that Sam and Dawn haven’t started their college terms.

Brenda comes out of the procedure room to tell him, “They’re moving her to Recovery. We can take her home in about an hour.”

Bill nods. He’s well aware that sedation isn’t common for four-month abortions; he’s just as aware that, for Karen, in her current state, it was the only option. He and Brenda will have their fight over that later, at home, in the privacy of their bedroom, but only after they have their daughter home and in her own bed. “I can drive if you want to sit with her.”

“Thanks, babe.” She rubs her face. “I’m going to go back with her. Want to come?”

“They’ll let me?”

“I know the higher-ups. Come on.”

He gets to his feet and winces, hoping she doesn’t catch it.

No such luck. “Pressure sore?”

He considers lying. “Yeah,” he says instead. The only times his leg’s been off in the last three days has been when he showers. “I’ll take care of it once we have her home.”

She nods, accepting that. “Come on.”

Karen looks like a sleeping angel when they get back to her. Brenda nearly shoves him into the chair by her bed and leaves to get another, and he takes their daughter’s hand, careful not to disturb the pulse ox. She shifts in bed but doesn’t wake.

“How’d it go?” he asks when Brenda comes back and sets a chair beside him.

She sits and rolls her head. “She’ll be fine. I have a prescription in case she hurts.”

Which they’ll lock up, along with everything else, to try to make sure this particular event doesn’t happen again. “Sam or Dawn can fill it. I set up her next therapy appointment. Called the school, too.”

“She’ll probably be out for a while. Maybe gossip will die down.”

He snorts. “Really think so?”

She sighs. “No, but I can hope.”

Karen mutters something, and Bill leans over to brush back her hair with his free hand. “Waking up, Kare?”

Her reply is incoherent. He glances at Brenda.

“She should wake up soon,” she says. “It was mostly nitrous, but he also gave her a heavy benzo.”

He tightens his grip on Karen’s hand. Benzos are half of what got them into this. Of course, they’re the half that slowed things down enough that she survived. “Can she take her antidepressants tonight?”

“As long as she’s eaten.” Brenda reaches over to rub Karen’s knee. “Come on, honey, time to wake up.”

They sit like that for another ten minutes or so, mostly quiet but occasionally telling Karen to wake up, before she opens her eyes, looking soft and bleary. “M’I done?” she mumbles.

“All done, sweetheart. We can go home soon,” Bill tells her.

Karen nods. “Kay.”

“How do you feel?” Brenda asks softly.

Karen shifts. “Fine.”

He can’t tell if that’s a lie, even if she does mean just physically. Either way, he leans over to kiss her forehead. “You’ll be home soon,” he tells her. “You’re all right.” Which _is_ a lie.

Karen continues to slowly come out of the haze of sedation over the next half-hour or more until the nurse in charge of Recovery deems her all right to go home. Brenda sends him out of the curtained space so she can help Karen dress, and he goes to get the car.

When they get home, Brenda fixes him with a look and suggests, “Why don’t you take care of your leg?” so he takes Will to their room with him and deals with the pressure sore forming at the base of his stump while Will chatters away.

Karen’s on the couch, curled up with a heating pad to her stomach, her head pillowed on Sam’s leg, when they get back downstairs. Sam strokes her hair, over and over. Dawn brackets her other side, rubbing Karen’s hip in a slow circle. A movie, one of Karen’s favorites, plays on the TV. Will heads straight for his mother, who’s in the armchair and watching the kids. The oldest pair look ready to fight off anyone who comes near Karen—probably anyone other than Zach, at the moment. Maybe they’ll make an exception for Will.

“Beautiful,” Bill says evenly, balancing with a hand against the wall, “we need to talk.”

“I thought you’d say that.” She kisses Will’s forehead and asks Dawn and Sam, “Do you mind watching him for a little while longer?”

“No,” Dawn says for both of them.

Brenda nods sharply and stands. She offers her arm, and he’s not so upset that he refuses the help getting back up the stairs. Down is easier than up on one foot. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” she says before they’ve even reached their room.

“Do you,” he says flatly.

“I knew it as soon as she said it’s a sin.” She closes the door behind them, and he hops over to sit on the bed. “I’m not apologizing for raising them in my faith.”

They did agree, at the beginning of their relationship, to not interfere in how the other raised their children when it came to religion. This, as far as he’s concerned, is very different. “She tried to kill herself instead of have an abortion,” he snaps, “because she thought abortion is a sin.”

“That’s not the whole reason,” and she sounds tired suddenly.

“Oh?” He has to force himself to keep his voice from rising. “She tell you something else, did she?”

Brenda sits on the chair in the corner of the room, facing him. “I,” she says, “also got pregnant as a result of rape, if you’ll remember.”

That stops him dead. He didn’t remember, and he should have.

“I kept my baby,” she continues, “and Karen’s never going to know that. But I was in a position to have my child. I was not fourteen, abused by a teacher, or terrified of how my parents would react. I can imagine if I was, though.”

He finds his voice. “You were twenty-six and married.”

“And I was terrified of how my husband would react.” She swallows. “I thought about doing the same thing as she did, Bill, but only for a second. I had Sam. If I _hadn’t_ had Sam…”

“Did you think of it over abortion?” he snaps.

“I thought of it over having to face Brett every day,” she says. He’s surprised she’s keeping her voice steady. Even though she’s mostly been away from him for ten years, she usually has at least a tremor when she talks about it. “And Karen thought she’d have to keep seeing Whittaker and facing what he was doing to her.”

Bill hadn’t considered it from that perspective. He should have, but nothing’s ever happened to him to make it an obvious thing to think about. His encounter with teenage pregnancy involved being two years older, full consent, and being the male in the equation. He deflates. “Why didn’t she come to us?”

“Shame, guilt, fear.” Brenda sighs. “She probably has a dozen reasons. I did for not going to my parents, and I was an adult. She’s only a child.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “How do we help her?” he asks helplessly. He hasn’t been in this territory before. Dawn never had anything approaching depression other than when he was hurt, and that didn’t even require medication, just counseling. Where Karen is now is entirely foreign.

“We go back to family therapy.” Brenda’s hands clench together. “We keep medication locked up. We make sure she sees her psychiatrist and therapist every single time she has an appointment, as often as they say she needs to go in. We spend a lot of time with her. And we don’t push her to talk to us.”

He nods. It makes more sense to him to get her to get everything out, but Brenda would know better. “I’ll be with her every day. Will might help.”

“I hope so.” Brenda rises. “I’m going to make her grilled cheese. You want anything?”

“The baby,” who’s hardly a baby anymore at two. “And ice,” he adds reluctantly.

“I’ll send him up with it.” She steps over and bends to kiss him. “If she wants to talk to Father Patrick, I’m taking her,” she adds when she pulls back.

His hands tighten into fists at that.

“He’s pretty liberal, and he’s definitely reasonable,” she says. She’s told him that before. “He won’t tell her it’s a sin. His counsel might be good for her.”

“All right,” he says grudgingly, even though she wasn’t asking for him to okay it.

“Will and ice, coming right up.” She leaves the room, the door standing open behind her.

He rubs his eyes again, trying to stave off exhaustion.

Will comes up a moment later, proclaiming, “Cold,” as soon as he hands Bill the ice.

“I know. Want to come talk to me?” He knows the answer to that already.

Will beams and climbs onto the bed, following as Bill shifts up the bed to lean back against the pillows and positions the icepack. Will flops beside him and starts to talk about the last few days as best he can, given he’s not yet two and a half. Bill fights to keep his eyes open and to talk to his son; once Will winds down into sleep, he feels a lot less guilty about letting his own eyes fall shut. The rhythm of Will’s breathing sends him to sleep; muddled, he thinks briefly what Karen’s child might have been like if this had this all been ten years later and consensual before it strikes him how stupid that is.

*

Brenda pulls down the bottle of Jack to make hot toddies to fight the symptoms of the colds she and Bill have caught from Zach. She frowns at the amount left and calls, “Have you been drinking this?” toward the living room.

“Drinking what?” he calls back. He sounds terrible; then again, she probably sounds nearly as bad.

“The Jack Daniels.” She knows he has the occasional drink to help get to sleep at a remotely reasonable hour, but she doesn’t think he has in a couple of months, at least.

“No.” She hears footsteps, and his voice is closer when he asks, “Why?”

She holds up the bottle, then turns as the tea kettle whistles.

“Have _you_ been drinking it?” he asks after a moment.

She shakes her head and pours the water over the teabags. “Unless it’s been in my sleep.”

He’s quiet a moment, then begins, “Karen…”

“She’s tall enough,” Brenda agrees, “and Zach’s a little young to steal drinks.”

“Sam or Dawn over Christmas?” he offers.

“Did they ask you?” Their nineteen-year-olds are allowed the occasional drink, at home and with permission.

“No.” He blows out a breath. “So Karen.”

She turns to face him. “We should talk to her.”

“And say what? ‘Karen, have you been stealing whiskey?’”

Brenda grimaces. “That’s one option.”

“Have another?”

She sighs. “We could try, ‘Karen, have you started drinking?’”

“You think she’d tell the truth?” Bill asks.

She would like to say that, yes, she trusts Karen to be truthful about it, but the problem is that she isn’t sure any longer and hasn’t been for months. “It’s worth a shot.”

He glances upward. “I’ll get her.” 

Brenda nods wordlessly. They could call her, but Will and Zach should both be asleep. While he leaves, she goes about adding the whiskey and honey to their tea.

“… not in trouble,” she hears Bill say as he and Karen come toward the kitchen.

Karen doesn’t say anything in response. She glances between Brenda and Bill once they’ve reached the kitchen but stays quiet.

“I need to ask you something,” Brenda begins.

“Okay…” Karen says slowly.

“Sweetheart, have you started drinking?”

Color rises in Karen’s cheeks. “No!”

“We won’t be angry if you have,” Bill says; he has to see as clearly as Brenda does that she’s lying.

“I’m not drinking,” she says forcefully.

“It’s just that there’s less whiskey than last time we checked,” Brenda says calmly, “so we were wondering.”

“So you accused me!”

“We’re not accusing,” Bill says, his voice just as calm as Brenda’s. “We’re asking, that’s all.”

“I’m not drinking,” Karen says again, her voice hard. “It’s not allowed with my medication.”

Which is true, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t. Brenda keeps the thought to herself, though, glancing at Bill. “Okay, sweetheart,” she says.

“Can I go now?” Karen asks, her voice still hard.

She nods. “You can go.”

Karen storms off, tossing over her shoulder, “I’m not drinking!”

They stay quiet until she’s upstairs, judging by the stomping; Brenda takes out the teabags and passes Bill one of the mugs. Once she’s certain Karen’s well out of earshot, she says, “We can’t keep open booze down here.”

“No,” he agrees grimly, “we can’t.”

“We’ll make room upstairs.” She wraps her hands around her mug and sighs. “I don’t want to accuse her of lying.”

He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t help anything,” he agrees. “We’ll keep an eye on her.”

That’s all they’ve been doing since the beginning of January, keeping an eye on her; there’s no other option, though. They can’t leave her to fend for herself in any way. “Do you think we should search her room?”

He lets out a harsh laugh. “Do you?”

“She’d never talk to us about anything if we did.” Brenda has to wonder if it’s worth the risk.

“We can ask Dawnie and Sam to talk to her,” he offers.

“They wouldn’t tell us what she said if she asked them not to,” she points out.

“No,” he agrees, “but they might be able to help her without talking to us.”

It’s a heavy responsibility for nineteen-year-olds, but Brenda’s sure they’d do it if asked. Before they left for school, they both seemed to feel as guilty as Brenda and Bill that they hadn’t caught anything before Karen’s attempt. “I’ll talk to Sam.”

He nods and sips his drink. “Dawn’s to call me tomorrow. I’ll ask her then.”

She smiles thinly. “Make sure Karen doesn’t hear.”

He gives her a look, presumably for stating the obvious, but says, “Let’s finish the movie.”

They sit nestled together on the couch, their drinks on the table in front of them and the bottle of Jack on the floor, and Brenda turns the movie back on. She doesn’t really focus on it, though. “We need to do something,” she says a good five minutes in.

“We’ll talk to the kids, get them to try to help.” Bill shrugs, his arm sliding against hers. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Reluctantly, she shakes her head. “Nothing that won’t make things worse.” It’s bad enough trying to get Karen to talk to them now; she can’t imagine how it would be if they alienated her.

He pecks her cheek. “We’re doing what we can.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, too.

She sighs. “That’s the hell of it.”

*

Karen rises, wiping spit from the corner of her mouth as Devon closes his pants. He digs in his pocket and hands her a small, zipped-shut bag of pills. “If you want anything more…” he says, eyes lingering on her chest.

She just manages not to shudder in revulsion. “I know.” Thing is, for stuff harder than oxy, she knows another guy who takes the same payment. She doesn’t have to let anyone touch her to get it if she doesn’t want to, and she definitely doesn’t want to.

He shrugs. “Hey, just offering.”

“Yeah, thanks.” She glances toward the door. “I’m heading out.”

He flops down on his beaten-up couch and waves a hand. “Call me when you want more.”

“Uh-huh.” She hurries up the basement stairs and through Devon’s parents’ empty house. She’s never once seen them, no matter what time she comes here. 

Later, when she’s lying on the grass in a West Hartford park, staring up at the spinning clouds, she vaguely considers the concept of chasing the dragon. She could, if she wanted. It would be easy enough to get it, just using her mouth. Or she could snort.

But right now, the oxy’s doing its job, driving the persistent anguish back. It doesn’t always anymore, just like booze doesn’t always, and she’s sensible enough to not mix the two. She’s tried E, and it sometimes works. It’s also made things worse a few times, which is pretty much the opposite of good.

The next time she’s out of oxy, she doesn’t call Devon. She calls Victor and asks, “Can I see the dragon?”

He laughs, full and rich. Victor could have people falling all over him for his voice alone, and he might; she’s not sure. “You know the price, kid.”

“I do.”

“Come tomorrow afternoon.”

She has options when she gets there, once she pays the same way she pays Devon. She never gets much from either of them, but she can come back as often as she wants if she’s prepared to pay for it. Usually, she is, much as she hates the way she pays them. It’s better than stealing money, though. 

“What’s your poison?” Victor asks. He’s laid out a few things: meth, crack, powder, heroin, black heroin. There’s less of the powder and heroin than the others, though a decent amount of black.

“I want to stop thinking,” she tells him, “but I’m not going to shoot.”

He picks up the baggie of black and dangles it in front of her. “Try it.”

He shows her how to smoke it using a cigarette and foil, and the high is sweeter than anything else she’s tried. It drives out the pain and replaces it with a sweet lassitude, relaxing even the ever-present knots in her temples and at the base of her skull. She stays at Victor’s until she starts to come down, and he lets her just watch his TV, doesn’t even try anything. 

Later, she wanders home, a pack of cigarettes and a little more black in her pocket, the little foil tube tucked into the pack. Her parents aren’t home, and she goes up to take a warm shower while her mind gradually clears.

She keeps going back to Victor after that. Nothing Devon has can touch it, and Victor likes her. Likes how she pays him, sure, but he also likes her enough not to try anything and to be more generous than he probably should be. It’s fine by her, works to do what she needs it to. Victor keeps her in weed and cigarettes, too, and he’ll provide booze if she wants it. That, she gives him ten bucks for and gets back a fifth of cheap gin. It’s the only thing she has to provide cash for. The few times she wants something besides black, like E or acid, he gives her extra.

She does her best to keep it from her parents, though; she goes to Victor’s when they’ll be gone, and when she smokes at home, it’s out back after they’ve gone to bed. She has a sweater she wears whenever she smokes to keep the cigarette smell on it only. They might figure it out, she doesn’t know. 

When she’s sober, she thinks how much it would hurt them if they knew, and she thinks how much Victor probably wants to work her toward paying him in a different way. When she’s high, though, neither thought bothers her. She’d even pay Victor that way if he got her high first, probably. She likes him well enough, even if she’s not attracted to him.

The one time she tries powder, she does pay him that way, after chasing the dragon. The powder makes things worse, though, and it hurts her heart. She doesn’t try it again, and Victor doesn’t push her to pay that way again.

Her dealer likes her. He gives her a choice. He doesn’t push.

It makes sex with a man the most appealing it’s ever been.

It doesn’t hurt that she gets to escape right after, every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings this chapter: Takes place immediately post-suicide attempt; abortion and guilt over it; discussion of spousal rape and rape of a teenager; discussion of spousal abuse; burgeoning alcoholism; drug use and addiction; underage prostitution in return for drugs (not graphic).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Karen meets Lena at Zach and Adamo's wedding. As a result, she decides to go into rehab.

Zach and Adamo’s wedding is huge. It would be fair-sized enough with just their whole family—the real family, not just legal family—plus the parents’ extended families and the kids’ friends, but Adamo’s invited a lot of his half-siblings. It makes it seem like Bill knows hardly anyone, even though his kid is one of the ones getting married. Zach can really carry off a wedding gown, that’s for sure.

Bill wends through the crowd, careful not to kick anyone or step on toes, while he looks for Brenda. It turns out she’s deep in a conversation with Adamo’s half-niece, who’s only eight or nine years younger than him. The girl—Emily, if he’s remembering right—is only about eleven, but she looks intense about whatever their subject is. He gets just close enough to hear something about neurology and decides not to interrupt. Maybe Brenda will direct her over to Greg.

So Bill changes targets and decides to find his son. His fourteen-year-old probably loves how many women and girls are around, if he’s anything like Bill was at that age (and he is). He heads for the bar, gets a glass of wine, and starts weaving through the crowd with an eye out for a towheaded teenager. It’s easier since Charles’ kids didn’t inherit that, besides Katie.

And speaking of Katie, there’s Will, sitting with her and her guide dog, George, and talking animatedly. He’s gesturing with his hands out of pure habit, not that it’s adding anything to that particular conversation. Still, Katie seems to be treating him like an adult, and Bill appreciates her all the more for it. She’s a good kid—even if she is twenty-one, she’s still a kid to him. And enjoying the fact that she’s an adult, if her wine is anything to go by. The newly-married couple can’t drink, but she can. If she were the type, she’d be lording it over them. Instead, she’s spending her time with a teenager. Smart kid, granted, but he’s still a teenage boy.

Who’s staring at her chest. Time to interrupt, at least a little. He walks over and thumps his son on the head, making Will glance up at him, and points at Katie’s face while he gives his son a significant look. Will nods and does focus on her face. See how long that holds.

All right. Zach’s no one to worry about, and he’s busy with greeting all her guests and spending time with her new husband, anyway. And Sam is off with Jeannette somewhere, he’s sure. Besides, Sam is thirty-one. He doesn’t need watching out for.

Which means the same goes for Dawn, and doesn’t that thought get to him. His baby girl shouldn’t be a grown woman.

Baby girl… where’s Karen? He hasn’t seen her in all his walking through the reception hall. It doesn’t mean she’s not in here, but she _does_ smoke. Among other things that they’ve been trying to get her to stop doing.

Today, it’s just smoking and maybe drinking. He heads for the door and slips out into the courtyard. There’s his daughter, sitting on a bench and smoking an ultra-light Virginia Slim, but there’s another girl beside her. It takes Bill a minute to place her, then he remembers—Emily’s older sister, Lena. And Lena’s looking at Karen with such an expression of awe that Bill can’t bring himself to break in. Instead, he watches for a bit.

Karen’s careful to blow her smoke away from Lena. He can’t see her expression when she looks at her, but Karen’s shoulders and back look relaxed and easy. It’s rare for her, and he knows it’s not drug-induced—Karen absolutely swore to her sibling that she wouldn’t take anything and wouldn’t get drunk today, and Karen does not break promises to her sibling. That’s in part because he never manipulates her through it, part because Karen adores her and always has. She’s like that with her other siblings, but she’s more guarded about the promises she makes them, Bill knows.

Karen stubs out her cigarette on the sole of her shoe and sets it on the bench beside her. She touches Lena’s arm, and he hears her voice but not her words. Whatever it is, Lena absolutely lights up; she moves over to tuck herself against Karen, fitting under her chin, and Karen wraps her arms around her. It makes Bill feel intrusive, and he ducks back into the hall. He knows plenty of other people if his kids and wife are busy, and he can always meet more.

*

“Hey, Mom?”

Brenda glances up from the onion she’s chopping. “Yeah, Karen?”

Her daughter twists her hands together. “I need to talk to you and Dad.”

Brenda frowns. That has the potential to be very bad. She hates thinking that way about any of her children, but Karen’s had the most problems. “After dinner?” she offers.

“As long as Will isn’t here,” she agrees.

“I’ll see if he can go hang out at Zach and Adamo’s for the evening. Sound good?”

She shrugs. “Or he could just watch a movie in the den…”

Brenda smiles. “Do you really trust him not to eavesdrop?”

“… I’ll call Zach.”

“Smart girl.”

That call ends up meaning Zach and Adamo come over for dinner, so Brenda makes extra pasta and adds more jarred sauce to the pot. Dinner goes well; Karen seems glad to see Zach, recently back from her honeymoon, and Zach and Adamo look more in love than ever. Will actually comments on it. 

Zach and Adamo take Will with them, as promised, and Karen goes to the freezer and pulls out what’s left of the mud pie from her birthday. “Want some?” she asks her parents.

“Please,” Brenda says.

“I do,” Bill says.

Karen divides what’s left into thirds and carries them to the table. They sit around it, Karen in the middle of the right side and Brenda and Bill at the head and foot. Brenda watches her daughter poke at her pie for a minute or so before asking, “What did you want to talk about?”

Karen exhales and glances between Brenda and Bill. She looks faintly fearful and like she feels ill. “Um. You remember Lena, right?”

“The girl you were with at the wedding. Emily’s sister,” Brenda says, nodding.

“She seemed like a good girl,” Bill adds. “Seemed to like you, too.”

Karen’s cheeks pinken. “She does. I think, anyway. We’ve been emailing and talking, and…” She coughs, shaking her head. “Anyway. I, um. She’s important to me.”

Brenda exchanges a look with Bill. She’s known the girl for about three weeks. “How important?” Brenda asks carefully.

“Umm.” Karen forks up a bit of her pie and pops it in her mouth in a blatant delay. 

Brenda takes advantage of the pause to eat some of hers before it all melts. Bill’s been eating whenever Karen talks, which is probably the smart approach, but it’s also the ruder one.

Karen finally swallows and stares down at her plate. “Enough that I want to go to rehab.”

Brenda’s eyes widen, and she stares at Bill, who looks just as stunned. They’ve been trying to talk Karen into rehab for years, even held an intervention for her once, and she wouldn’t agree to even meet people from centers. Now, though…

“I can call the insurance company in the morning and find some good programs,” Bill says finally.

“I already did.” Karen still hasn’t looked up. “There’s this inpatient one in Waterbury. Sharrow Behavioral Services. They have really good reviews, supposed to be supportive but firm, the nurses and shrinks are good, group therapy’s well managed, everything.”

She means it, then. She’s going to do this. The pain Brenda’s been carrying over how her daughter has chosen to self-medicate throbs once, a sharp reminder, and then eases almost entirely. “Are you doing short-term or long-term?” she asks.

“It depends on what you can afford.” Karen glances over at her. “I mean, because I can’t pay for it. I can barely afford cigarettes.” And being able to buy that much, Brenda knows, is because they give her ten dollars a day so she doesn’t feel so trapped or like a child. Like a failure.

“Do you think you’d do better in long-term?” Bill asks.

Karen looks over at him now. “I—probably. I mean, I’ve been using so long.” She taps her fork on the edge of her plate. “And they’ll be good with therapy for… for the other stuff. That’ll help.”

“Karen,” Brenda says, “I need to ask you something, and it might hurt.”

Karen bites her lip and looks at her. “Okay.”

Brenda takes a deep breath. “If it doesn’t work with Lena for whatever reason, and I pray to God it will, do you think you’ll be able to stay clean?”

Karen bites her lip harder, but nods. “I… I think so. I was going to talk to Zach after I figured out how long I’d go in for and stuff.”

“Sixty days or ninety?” Brenda asks.

Karen taps her plate with her fork in a rapid tattoo before saying, “Is ninety days selfish?”

“Only if you mind us pulling some of the money from what we saved for your college.” It’s a sizeable amount, too; it should more than cover the ninety days.

“Okay.” Karen smiles tremulously and looks between them. “Okay. I’ll call to get in tomorrow.” She stands, coming to the end of the table to hug Brenda tightly around the shoulders. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.”

Karen does the same with Bill, and he says, “We’d do anything to help you, Kare, you know that.”

She smiles more steadily and picks up her plate. “I’m going to go see if Lena’s online.”

“I’m happy for you, Karen,” Brenda calls after her.

Once she’s gone, Brenda and Bill stare at each other for a minute; then Brenda turns to her pie. They can talk about it later.

*

Rehab, as it turns out, is much better than a psych facility. For one thing, she gets her own clothes, including shoelaces. For another, they’re allowed phone calls as often as they want, rather than being restricted to certain times.

Today, though, Karen doesn’t need phone calls. Instead, she has a visitor waiting for her in the lounge, one she didn’t expect.

“Lena?” she says incredulously. “What are you—you didn’t tell me you were coming!”

Lena’s eyebrows draw down, and lines appear around her mouth. “Did you not want me to?”

“Oh God no,” she says immediately. “I’m so glad to see you!” Vid calls and Skype just aren’t the same. She hurries over to the couch to wrap Lena in a hug, impulsively kissing her cheek.

Lena returns the kiss before pulling away. “How much longer are you here?”

“Forty-three days.” Karen manages a smile. “It’s really not so bad. They treated my withdrawal well, and they let us smoke. I’m going to quit that soon,” she adds quickly, “but it helps with stress and anxiety.”

Lena cups her cheek. “I’m—I’m glad you’re doing this,” she says softly. “It’s good for you, isn’t it?”

“Very,” she agrees. “I still—I get cravings that can be pretty bad, but group helps, and I have a good individual therapist. The nurses are always available, too. And the shrink’s helping—I’m on meds.”

“Good. That’s—that’s good.” Lena ducks her head down. “I—your letter said you missed being with me.”

“I did,” Karen says softly. “I—you’re the reason I’m doing this. I don’t want to poison you with any of my crap that I can help, and getting off stuff helps with that.”

Lena doesn’t look up at her, not even through her lashes. “But you—really, for me? We haven’t known each other that long, and—really hadn’t when you checked yourself in.”

“Not long,” Karen agrees after a moment, “but pretty well, I think. Or—is that wrong? Did I misunderstand you?” The very idea is enough to make Karen want to find a smoke.

“No!” Lena looks up, meeting her eyes. Her cheeks look pink, but her gaze stays steady. “You didn’t. I—when we met, at the wedding, it was—I felt something I haven’t ever before. The way you talked to me and treated me like—like I mattered and deserved your attention and affection—” Her breath catches. “When you get out, can we do something? Like—we could go on a trip, maybe. Papa would pay.”

Karen smiles softly. “I’d like that. Where would you want to go?”

“Have you ever been to Chicago?” Lena asks. “We have family there, and I think Papa would feel better if we were near them, since this is so new.”

That stings a bit; Karen knows Johnny probably feels that way in part because she’s a recovering junkie. “We went once,” she says. “I liked it. We could definitely go there.”

“Or there’s Atlanta, Miami, or Los Angeles,” Lena adds, “if you’d rather.”

She makes a face. “It’s probably too hot for those.”

Lena smiles and grabs Karen’s hand, squeezing it. “Okay. Chicago. I’ll talk to Papa about where we should stay. Do you want to fly or take the train?”

“Train,” Karen says immediately. “I think it would be fun.” She brushes a strand of hair out of Lena’s face. “Can I—Lena, I want to kiss you.”

Lena flushes but nods. She leans in closer, and Karen closes the gap, gently pressing their lips together. Lena’s are soft, and she’s a good kisser, even close-mouthed as this is. When they part, Karen’s face feels heated.

“That was—wow,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” Lena breathes. “Um—do you want one bed or two in our hotel?”

“One. Definitely one.”

Lena looks pleased by that. She kisses Karen again, just as soft. “I can’t believe someone as amazing as you wants someone like me.”

“I—me, amazing?” Karen asks. “I’m just a junkie loser. You’re the amazing one here.”

“No,” Lena says, firmer than Karen’s heard her yet. “Everything you’ve been through, and you’re still here. You’re getting clean, and—and I don’t think you’ll relapse. I think you’re too strong for it.”

Karen bites her lip. “If I don’t,” she finally answers, “it’s because of you.”

“I—I really care about you,” Lena confides, and Karen feels like she’s soaring.

“I care about you, too, Lena.” She closes the gap between them to hug Lena tightly. “You’re an incredible person.”

“I’m really not,” Lena says, her voice muffled. “I—you should know that, going in.”

“No,” Karen says as she pulls back, “you are.”

“Are you allowed to leave to go out for lunch or something?” Lena asks, sounding a bit timid, almost like she thinks Karen will reject her.

“I wish I could,” she says regretfully. “But there are vending machines if you’re okay with making do with junk food. One of them has sandwiches and stuff.”

“My treat,” Lena says, rising.

Karen stands, twining her fingers with Lena’s. “This way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings this chapter: Addiction and rehab.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Karen moves to New York to live with Lena.

Bill finishes carrying the last box out to the waiting pickup and wedges it into the bed. Karen follows with the black garbage bags of clothes and tosses them on top; almost right away, Brenda and Johnny stretch the netting over the top and secure it to the bed. 

Bill turns to his daughter. “You’re sure you want to leave us?”

Karen laughs, her eyes bright. “It’s just New York, Daddy. Not that far. You could take the train down.”

“Just might,” he agrees. He wraps her in a hug. “It looks like you won’t lose anything. You do, just get Johnny to replace it. Or get Lena to ask Johnny.”

Karen laughs and presses her face into his shoulder. “I’ll miss you.”

“Hey, it’s like you said. Just New York. You can take the train.”

“No fair using my words against me.”

“Then you shouldn’t use them in the first place.” He kisses her head. “Tell us before you get married. I’ll be very unhappy with you if I don’t get to be there.”

“We’ll make sure you know,” Karen promises. She looks him in the eye. “You think we will.”

“I think you love that girl more than life, and I think she loves you the same.” Bill brushes away the moisture escaping her eyes at that. “You’ll stay with her, Kare. I know you will.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She kisses his cheek and turns away, to her mother. 

Bill lets them have some relative privacy and glances toward the truck. Johnny’s leaning against the tailgate, turning a cigarette in his fingers but not lighting it, and Bill strides over. Johnny looks up at him, then smiles crookedly.

“Lemme guess. Take care a your little girl or you’ll shoot me.”

“Pretty much,” Bill agrees.

“Think we already had that conversation,” Johnny says mildly. Either he doesn’t think Bill means it, or his line of work comes with those threats routinely. Which, okay, it probably does, but it’s still a surprise that someone so highly ranked would get direct threats. “Anythin’ either a these girls need, they’ll get. I’ll take care a ‘em. Ya wan’, I’ll email ya ‘bout how they’re doin’.”

Bill actually considers it, then thinks about how betrayed Karen would feel. He settles for, “Only if they’re having problems or are in trouble or anything. Then I need to know.”

Johnny nods. “Fair. Me, I’d go for daily updates, but I’ve been tol’ I’m overprotective a Lena.” He twists enough to look over at his daughter, standing by the passenger door and looking nervous, then looks back at Bill. “Think I have reason ta be.”

Bill knows enough of Lena’s history to agree with that. Of course, by that logic, he’s entitled to be overprotective of Karen, but that’s a temptation he won’t give in to. Not now that she’s doing so much better. “When they visit us, I’ll keep you updated,” he says instead.

“’Preciate it.” 

Bill glances to Brenda and Karen, who are just parting. “I think everyone’s about ready to leave.”

“Looks like,” Johnny agrees. He produces a cigarette case from somewhere and puts the one in his hand away. “Been nice meetin’ ya for real.” They met briefly at Zach and Adamo’s wedding.

“You too.” They shake hands, and Bill walks back to Karen, who’s standing by the passenger door, gripping Lena’s hand and looking some combination of nervous and ecstatic. “Call us when you get there,” he tells his daughter.

“Mom already made me promise.”

“Now I am.”

Karen laughs a little. “I promise I’ll call.”

“Even if you stop for dinner or something, call us, whatever the time,” he reiterates.

“I _promise_ , Daddy.”

Bill looks at Lena. In a much gentler voice than he used with her father, he says, “Take care of my baby for me, will you?”

Lena smiles shyly. “I think we’ll take care of each other.”

Brenda nods. “Good. I think you can both do that.”

Johnny slams his door shut and starts the truck.

“That’s our cue,” Karen says. She lets go of Lena and steps aside so her fiancée can open the door. Once Lena’s in, Karen rushes over to hug Brenda and Bill at once and kiss their cheeks. “I love you.” Then she breaks away and repeats, “I’ll call,” before climbing into the truck and closing the door. 

They’re pulling away from the curb then, and all Bill and Brenda can do is look after their little girl, leaving for good.

*

“Hello?” Brenda says absently when she tells her phone to answer without glancing at the number. She doesn’t have the video display turned on right now; she doesn’t like to when she’s making dinner. But she does have the speaker on.

 

“Mom?” Karen says. “Are you busy?”

A grin spreads across Brenda’s face. Karen sounds so _good_ every time she calls now. Brenda couldn’t be happier about it. “No, honey, I’m just making dinner. Just about at a point I can stop.”

“Oh. Well, you can call me back. I want to talk to you and Dad at the same time, anyway.”

“He’s out for a run with Will. We could get on Skype in about ten minutes, if you want, or we can put the display on a bigger screen.”

“No, Skype’s good. I’ll be ready. Just call me on it when you have a minute.”

“About ten minutes,” Brenda reiterates. “Love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, Mom.” Karen ends the call, and Brenda turns back to dealing with the chicken.

Bill and Will get home in about eight minutes, just after Brenda’s finished stuffing the chicken and has gotten it into the oven. Bill stops in the kitchen to tell her, “Smells good.”

Will, meanwhile, thunders up the stairs.

“Liar. I just put it in.”

“It _will_ smell good,” he amends.

“You’re just hoping there are leftovers so you don’t have to cook Monday.”

He grins. “Possibly, except with Will’s appetite and the run we just went on, there won’t be. I’m going to shower.”

“No you’re not.” She drops the innards into a bag to put in the freezer; they’ll make stock with them later.

“… I’m not?”

“I told Karen we’d catch her on Skype in two-ish minutes from now.”

He frowns a bit. “She all right?”

“She sounded good. I think it’s a good thing.”

Bill nods. “I’ll make sure the mic’s in.”

“Thanks.” She turns the tap on so she can scrub her hands as Bill leaves the kitchen, then seals the bag of innards and puts it away. That done, she heads for the office and snags the chair from her desk.

“Set?” Bill asks.

“And match.” She smiles, sitting beside him. “Call her.”

Bill does, and a moment later, Karen answers it. She looks relaxed, wearing a worn t-shirt she stole from Bill just before she moved, her hair loosely braided. “Hi!” she says. “How’s dinner, Mom?”

“I just put the chicken in the oven.”

She nods. “How was your run?” she asks Bill.

“Good. Your brother’s endurance is great.”

She smiles. “That’s good to hear.” She pauses a moment, then blurts out, “We set a date.”

Brenda beams at her. “That’s fantastic, honey! When?”

“November. We both wanted it then. So we have time to get everything set up, and Johnny and Nic are willing to pull strings if they have to. And Michael’s so excited about helping to decorate. Lena says I have to be the one to overrule him if there’s anything we don’t like.” Brenda vaguely hears Lena’s voice, and Karen laughs. “She says it’s because she doesn’t want to make him pout.”

Bill snorts. “Good reason.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to make your dad pout, would you?” Brenda asks.

Karen laughs as Bill shoots her a look. “I don’t think either of you compare to Michael. But yeah, it’s going to be November fifteenth. We told Lena’s parents and Nic first, just because they’re here and we could catch them for lunch, but you’re fourth and fifth to know.” She frowns a bit. “At least, from us. Michael’s probably told Emily by now…”

“Are you calling Zach next?” Bill asks.

“Um, _duh_ , Dad.”

“When did we teach her that was acceptable?” Bill asks Brenda.

“When she met Dawn.”

“Exactly,” Karen says smugly. “Yeah, Zach next, then Sam, then Dawn. I could tell Will now.”

“He’s in the shower,” Bill says. “Want us to pass it on?”

She shakes her head. “Just tell him to give me a call tonight. I want his reaction.”

“He’ll be happy for you,” Brenda says, “but he _is_ a sixteen-year-old boy. He won’t be overexcited.”

Karen waves that off. “As long as he’s a little excited, I’m good.”

“So what are our jobs in this whole thing?” Brenda asks. She pulls open Bill’s desk drawer, where he keeps a notepad, and steals it, then one of his pens, and ignores his mock-offended look.

*

Karen keeps her eyes closed as Zach smooths on eye shadow. “Do you think she’s ready?” she mumbles, since her sibling has strictly instructed her not to move her face until he’s done.

“I could call,” Jeannette offers.

“S’okay.” Jeannette would just end up freaking Lena out somehow.

“I think you’re a prettier bride than I was,” Zach comments. “Done, you can open your eyes.”

She looks in the mirror. “Oh, wow,” she breathes. “Zach, you’re _amazing_. I’d kiss you, but…”

“I’d kill you? You’re right,” he says with a grin.

“No killing on a wedding day, you know the rule,” Dawn says from the bedroom.

“Ears like a _bat_ , that’s you,” he calls.

“It comes from listening for a certain child being _too_ quiet,” Dawn returns. “Just wait until you have your own.”

“Hopefully next year!” He looks at Karen. “Okay, you should get dressed. _Do not_ touch your face or hair.”

“Who’s willing to do my corset?” Karen asks, standing.

Jeannette wrinkles her nose. “Seriously, a corset? I couldn’t ever wear one.”

“Believe me, it’s worth it,” Zach says.

“Can I do a case study on your relationship?” Jeannette asks for what must be the millionth time.

“Nope,” he says, as always.

“I’ll do it, Karen,” Dawn says.

“Okay, just leave me room to _breathe_.”

“Hold your breath while I cinch it,” she advises. “Come on, we only have half an hour before we have to leave.”

“Coming, coming.” Karen steps out of the bathroom and opens the armoire to find the pink-embroidered corset, matching underwear, and stockings and garter belt. “Clear out of the bathroom so I can change my underwear,” she says as she heads back. 

Zach and Jeannette oblige her, and Karen takes care of that, plus her stockings, before opening the door. “Dawn, in here so I’m not flashing them, too?”

“Oh, like I care,” Zach says, “I shared a room with you for how long?”

“Okay, fine, so I’m not flashing _Jeannette_.”

“I’m a doctor,” Jeannette points out.

Karen rolls her eyes. “Fine, everyone gets an eyeful.” She steps out and hands the corset to Zach so she can drop her robe. The corset is custom-made, more like a bustier in cut except that it still laces up in the back. She puts it on and carefully does up the hook-and-eye latches before turning away from Dawn. “Lace me.”

“Inhale,” Dawn instructs and barely waits before she starts pulling the ribbon taut. 

Karen holds her breath as long as possible before reaching back to tap Dawn’s wrist so she can get fresh air. Dawn waits, and they do it a few times, until it’s laced tight but Karen can still breathe.

“Okay.” She takes a few breaths to test things, then nods. “Thanks, Dawn.”

“You’re welcome. It’s a lot easier than doing your own.”

Karen eyes her speculatively. “Voice of experience?”

“Yes indeed.”

She smiles. “Pay off?”

Dawn grins. “Oh yeah.”

“Congratulations.” Karen turns to her closet; one of the benefits of her soon-to-be fathers-in-law buying their condo is that the master bedroom has two closets and enough space for two dressers or armoires or whatever. Lena’s is a dresser. She grabs the garment bag her dress is in and brings it out.

Zach does the unveiling of the dress while Karen finds the box holding her new heels. Getting her into the dress is a bit of a ceremony, in a way; Zach’s repaying her for helping with her dress when he got married. Also because there are so many buttons. Zach takes the lower ones, Dawn does the ones at her neck, and Jeannette finds Karen a pair of flats so she doesn’t dirty her heels in the slushy snow.

“You have a wrap or jacket or anything?” Dawn asks.

“Yeah. Faroese shawl in my armoire, the light pink one.”

“I love your dress,” Jeannette says.

Karen slips her flats on, using Zach for balance, then twirls. “Thanks. Zach helped pick.” The tulle is a pale, pale pink; over it is a layer of cream lace, heavily detailed in the bodice, fading out to patches of detail down to the train, then heavy again around the hem.

“I mean, I could never wear it,” Jeannette adds, matter-of-fact.

Karen squints, trying to picture flame-haired, freckly Jeannette in a pale pink dress. Add in her talent for getting tangled in clothes…

Zach evidently pictures the same thing, given her sudden burst of laughter.

“Okay, here we go,” Dawn says, passing Karen her shawl. “Where’s your umbrella?”

Karen drapes her shawl on. “Front closet.”

“License?”

“Dad has it.”

“Purse?”

“Side table.”

“Shoes?”

“I have them,” Jeannette volunteers.

Dawn nods. “Let’s march.”

“You realize we’re not your underlings, right?” Jeannette asks, even as Dawn herds them out of Karen and Lena’s bedroom. 

“We are not being late to Karen’s wedding,” Dawn says briskly. “Dad, Brenda, ready?”

“We’ve been ready,” Dad says. He’s in a tux, black with a dove grey-patterned waistcoat; he wore it to Zach’s wedding two years before.

Mom stands. She looks elegant in her plum-colored sheath. Her shoes and purse match. “Bill, still have the license?”

He pats his jacket. “Yep.” It must be in his inside pocket. He gets to his feet, offering Karen his arm. “May I have the bride’s company?”

She laughs. “ _One_ of the brides,” she corrects, and her stomach fills with butterflies.

“I’ll get your bride for a dance later,” he says blithely. “For now, I get my daughter.”

“Come on, let’s go,” Dawn says. She picks up the assortment of umbrellas from the floor beside the front closet and passes them out, then opens the closet to find Karen’s. The only differences between the bunch are colors; Mom invested in those hundred percent recyclable ones a couple of Christmases before and gave them to the entire family.

“Eva’s meeting us there?” Jeannette asks.

Zach nods. “They were running late leaving. Something about Jimmy’s shoes.”

“Keys?” Dawn asks Karen.

“In my purse.” Karen snatches that off the table as she walks toward Dawn to claim her umbrella. “Oh!”

“Oh?” Dawn echoes.

“Reception dress.”

“I’ll meet you down there, just give me your keys,” Zach says. Karen hands her sibling her purse, and Zach heads for the bedroom as Dawn shepherds everyone else out.

“The military has done terrible things to you,” Dad remarks to Dawn. “You should get out while you can.”

“Daddy, you haven’t been late to a single thing since… I can’t remember you _ever_ being late to _anything_.”

Dad waves that off. “The point stands.”

Dawn ignores that and calls the elevator. Zach rushes down the hall toward them just as it dings and the doors open. Dad holds the doors open while Jeannette carries the train of Karen’s dress over the probably-filthy threshold of the elevator doors, and then Zach joins them, holding another shoebox and the garment bag.

Outside, the sky is overcast and spitting freezing rain. The limo has pulled up outside the building, and this time both Jeannette and Dawn carry Karen’s train so they each have a hand free and can also use their umbrellas. Then the lot of them pile in the limo, Karen tucks the train up under her, and the butterflies rise up in a flurry.

“Nervous?” Dad asks knowingly.

“How did you get through this?” she asks despairingly. “Any of you!”

“Except me,” Dawn says.

“Except Dawn,” she amends.

Jeannette shrugs. “I knew I was getting Sam forever out of it. It wasn’t that hard with that at the end.”

Karen points an accusing finger. “You’re far too practical.”

Zach smiles. “I was nervous, you remember?”

Karen laughs. She’d been tempted to sedate her just so he’d get through the ceremony without throwing up. “Yeah, I remember.”

“But I had you there. That helped. You kept reminding me how much I love Adamo.” He shrugs. “It helped. You know how much you love Lena?”

She nods. It’s beyond her ability to find the words at the moment.

“Just focus on getting to be with her forever and have it be something you can prove.”

“You’re going to get the certificate,” Mom puts in, “and you’ll want to frame it, just to show the world that you have a legal claim that shows how you feel.”

“A legal claim,” Dad repeats.

“That was how _you_ put it, babe.”

“You got the copy to frame,” he counters.

If she and Lena are like that in twenty years, Karen decides, she’ll be incredibly happy.

Once their limo pulls up to the hall, Dad says, “Wait here, I’ll make sure Lena’s hiding,” and gets out of the car first. A moment later, he comes back and gestures them all out.

Karen has to be careful with the train, yet again, but it’s going to look wonderful in picture, and besides, it’s the only time she’ll have an excuse to wear a dress with a train. Once inside the hall, she and her entourage step into one of the two little rooms off the hall rented for the ceremony that are intended for this kind of preparation. There’s a chair—and an Eva, in her bridesmaid dress and everything. 

“Sit, let me fix your hair a little,” Zach orders.

“With what?” Karen asks. He’s not carrying anything other than her reception dress and shoes.

“I have the rescue kit,” Eva says, pointing. She reaches over and squeezes Karen’s hand. “Excited?”

She laughs. “More like butterflies are about to fly out of my throat.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Karen sits, and Zach fusses with her hair again, then touches up her lipstick— _that_ , Zach had in her purse.

“Shoes, please?” Karen asks Jeannette, who’s been dealing with all the paper packed in and around them. Jeannette hands them over, and Karen slips them on. “Where’s Sam?”

“Wrangling my son,” Dawn says. 

“I’ll have Michael do it.” Eva slips out of the room.

Karen nearly bites her lip, then considers Zach’s wail of frustration that would result and stops herself. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Dad confirms. He rests a hand on her shoulder. “The part you’re nervous about doesn’t take long.”

And, in the end, it doesn’t. Mom and Dad walk Karen down the aisle first, followed by their attendants, who file off to the sides, and then Lena’s parents walk her down, and she stands with her attendants, eyes fixed on Karen. When their Unitarian minister begins to speak, Karen barely hears a word; she’s so focused on Lena. Lena’s chosen a dress very similar to Karen’s, though the bodice is cut higher, and it doesn’t have a train. Hers is ice blue lace over deeper blue tulle; she looks radiant.

Karen doesn’t remember saying her vows later, and she barely remembers Lena saying hers. She does remember the “I do”s, the proclamation that they’re spouses, and the kiss, which leaves Lena flushed and both trying to catch their breath. 

Then they walk down the aisle together, followed by their attendants, and the rest is a party until they get to leave on their honeymoon.

Granted, the party is a little much for both of them at points. Every so often, one squeezes the other’s fingers tightly, the signal they’ve agreed upon, and they make excuses to go out of the reception hall to one of the rooms outside the hall they had the ceremony in. 

“I bet everyone thinks we’re having sex,” Karen says during one of those escapes.

Lena winces. “I hope not.”

Karen fidgets, rubbing her fingers together, and barely realizes she’s doing it or touching her lips every so often.

“You want a cigarette, don’t you?” Lena asks.

Karen halts and looks at her—at her _wife_. “What?”

“The way you’re fidgeting and…” She trails off, then shrugs. “It’s like when we met, except you had cigarettes then.”

“Oh.” Karen studies her manicure for a moment, debating her answer. “They helped with anxiety,” she says at last. “Not with depression or—or the rest, but the anxiety, they worked well on.” She shrugs. “I’m not taking anything for that until the plane, if I need it then.”

Lena nods. Softly, she asks, “Are you okay with the alcohol? I’m sorry we couldn’t have a dry bar, but…”

“No, my family probably would have revolted, too.” She smiles. “It’s fine, honey. Really, it is. Just stick by me, and you’ll keep me from wanting to drink.” It’s only a little bit of a lie, really; booze was never her biggest temptation.

Lena gets one of her looks of wonder, the ones that tell Karen she doesn’t realize how much she’s loved. “Really?”

“I have you. Why would I need alcohol?” She reaches out for Lena’s hand. “Ready to go back?”

“Ready,” Lena says confidently, and they turn to leave the room together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings this chapter: Reference to recovering from alcoholism.

**Author's Note:**

> Overall work's trigger warnings: PTSD and flashbacks; references to past domestic abuse, past rape, past child abuse, past child sexual abuse, "present" teen sexual abuse, abortion and guilt over it; alcoholism; drug use; addiction; underage prostitution in terms of sex in exchange for drugs (very oblique/non-graphic); traumatic amputation and character with gunshot wounds from war. Each chapter will have its relevant notes.
> 
> Trigger warnings for Chapter One: PTSD and flashbacks; references to past domestic abuse and past child abuse.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art: Two Kingdoms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/942166) by [katiemariie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/pseuds/katiemariie)




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